CATHY  ROSS  HER 


MRS  VICTOR  RICKARD 


CATHY  ROSSITER 

MRS.  VICTOR  RICKARD 


CATHY    ROSSITER 


BY 

MRS.  VICTOR   RICKARD 

AUTHOR  OF  "YOUNG  MR/GIBBS,"  "THE  FIRE  OF  GREEN 
BOUGHS,"  "THE  HOUSE  OF  COURAGE,"  ETC. 


NEW  XSJr  YORK 
GEORGE   H.  DORAN   COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  I92O, 
BY  GEORGE    H.  DORAN   COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN   THE    UNITE*   STATES   «F  AMERICA 


That  wasteful  triek  of  yours,  that  gust  prodigious 
Of  dreams  too  great  for  their  comparison, 
Blew  stars  ablaze,  but  drowned  us  in  the  ditches. 
Sad,  generous,  valiant,  tired  ephemeron  ! 
Had  we  but  coined  the  vision  when  it  shone 
We  too  had  ruled,  and  moeked  the  dispossessed. 
Well,  we  have  the  rags,  the  prudent  have  the  riches — 
We  have  not  lived  as  wisely  as  the  rest." 

T.  M.  KETTLE. 


2137900   ' 


CATHY  ROSSITER 


CATHY  ROSSITER 


CHAPTER  I 

fire  was  burning  rather  low,  for  Monica  Henstock  was 
never  lavish  with  coal,  and  the  temperature  in  her  sitting- 
room  had  fallen  perceptibly.  Her  room  was  decorated  in 
hard  greens  and  greys,  and  none  of  the  easy  chairs  were 
really  deserving  of  the  title,  but  the  effect  was  tidy  and  ex- 
cessively neat,  and  Monica  herself  was  the  acme  of  tidiness. 
A  lamp  with  a  hard  green  paper  shade  threw  a  circle  of  light 
on  to  her  writing-table,  and  all  her  letters  were  put  away  into 
packets,  marked  respectively  "Answered"  or  "Unanswered," 
and  no  one  who  knew  Monica  ever  suspected  her  of  mixing 
the  one  with  the  other.  She  had  come  early  to  her  sense  of 
power,  and  had  taken  her  degree  as  a  Bachelor  of  Medicine 
with  real  distinction,  and  the  contrast  between  her  metier 
and  herself  was  sufficiently  striking  to  make  her  interesting. 
In  figure,  she  was  slender  and  rather  frail,  and  her  fine, 
mobile  features  had  an  original  and  almost  mystic  sugges- 
tion. Her  mouth  drooped  at  the  corners,  and  she  was  full 
of  abstract  ardours.  Since  she  began  to  think  for  herself, 
which  was  very  early  in  life,  as  these  things  count,  she  had 
flung  herself  into  extremes,  and  fought  for  a  number  of 
causes.  Studied  closely,  it  was  possible  to  discover  that 
there  was  a  deep  strain  of  morbidity  in  her,  which  induced 
her  to  dwell  upon  the  ugly,  dangerous  side  of  things,  and 
her  training  had  accentuated  her  natural  tendency.  The 
force  with  which  she  was  able  to  express  herself  was  light- 
ened by  her  attractive  smile,  showing  white  regular  teeth, 
and  her  small  head  was  crowned  with  a  wealth  of  thick  red 
hair.  She  was  by  no  means  the  stereotyped  professional 
woman,  and  even  though  her  room  had  all  the  rigidity  of 

9 


io  CATHY  ROSSITER 

a  consulting-room,  Monica  conquered  it,  unconsciously,  be- 
cause she  was  essentially  feminine.  Her  views  on  life,  men, 
women  and  marriage,  on  the  social  questions  of  the  day, 
were  defiant,  not  to  say  bombastic.  Life,  to  her,  was  not 
so  much  a  battle-ground  as  a  platform,  and  she  lectured 
whenever  opportunity  arose.  She  was  thirty-two  but  looked 
younger.  Without  her  special  distinction  she  would  have 
been  dowdy,  but  with  it,  her  total  lack  of  chic  became  an 
asset. 

On  one  side  of  her  nature  she  was  careful,  hard-working 
and  steady,  and  this  had  brought  her  early  success ;  and,  on 
the  other,  she  was  an  emotionalist,  given  to  great  friend- 
ships with  other  women,  and  unconsciously  susceptible 
where  men  were  concerned.  In  fact,  Monica  knew  less  of 
herself  than  most  of  us,  and  while  she  believed  that  she  was 
a  merciless  antagonist,  she  was,  actually,  quite  unusually 
vulnerable  on  the  side  of  sex.  But  Monica  had  "made 
good."  She  ranked  with  the  men  whom  she  affected  to 
despise,  and  she  was  of  real  use  in  the  world. 

Her  small  house  in  Colebrook  Street,  off  Cavendish 
Square,  was  well  known,  and  her  engagements,  apart  from 
hospital  work,  were  almost  more  than  she  could  deal  with. 

She  had  her  scorns,  feeling  she  had  earned  a  right  to  be 
scornful,  and  some  over-indulgence  in  this  respect  had 
pulled  down  the  corners  of  her  flexible  mouth.  Yet,  behind 
all  this,  the  real  Monica  craved  for  another  life,  which  in- 
cluded love  and  rapture.  Women  came  to  her  in  shoals, 
but  men,  unless  her  own  colleagues,  were  rare  in  her  life; 
when  they  did  appear,  the  hidden  Monica  peered  out,  and 
the  Monica  that  she  believed  herself  to  be  had  to  invent 
fictions  to  account  for  the  fact  that  she  always  preferred 
them  before  her  own  sex. 

She  was  standing  by  her  writing-table  talking  to  her 
greatest  friend,  Cathy  Rossiter,  and  Cathy  was  grumbling 
at  the  excessive  angularity  of  the  chair  in  which  she  was 
sitting. 

Why  they  were  friends  was  one  of  those  strange,  psycho- 
logical puzzles  which  no  one  understands,  and  can  only  be 
explained  through  the  fact  that  they  had  been  schoolfellows. 


II 

Cathy  had  everything.  Monica  frequently  dwelt  on  the  sub- 
ject with  a  hint  of  rancour  in  her  heart.  Everything  she 
wore  suited  her,  and  her  easy  grace  was  a  poem.  Sir  Neville 
Rossiter,  her  father,  had  left  her  well  provided  for,  and  she 
had  the  type  of  beauty  which  proclaims  itself  to  the  whole 
world.  She  was  not  neat,  she  was  careless  to  untidiness, 
and  yet  she  commanded  the  full  joy  of  the  most  critical 
observer.  Her  hair  was  wavy  and  brown,  and  her  eyes 
wide  and  very  blue.  Her  beauty  of  feature  was  even  less 
than  her  beauty  of  expression  and  the  frankness  of  her 
smile.  Cathy  touched  the  human  being  in  every  one,  and 
there  was  a  dash  and  gallantry  in. her  bearing  which  called 
for  an  immediate  response.  No  one  could  grudge  her  her 
good  fortune  in  life,  because  she  herself  was  so  generous. 
In  fact,  the  whole  of  Cathy  was  just  her  lavishness.  She 
held  out  her  arms  to  the  world,  smiled  at  it,  and  asked  to 
be  a  friend,  for  she  was  entirely  herself.  Monica  counted 
everything.  She  knew  what  she  spent  on  stamps ;  she  knew 
what  she  had  at  the  bank,  and  she  knew  to  a  halfpenny  how 
much  small  change  there  was  in  the  voluminous  bag  which 
she  carried  when  she  went  out.  With  Cathy,  everything  was 
otherwise ;  she  hadn't  the  least  idea  what  her  yearly  expendi- 
ture amounted  to,  and  never  troubled  about  it ;  she  said  she 
had  "holes  in  all  her  pockets,  mental  and  material,"  and 
Monica  suspected  that  her  gloves  and  stockings  were  prob- 
ably in  the  same  condition. 

Cathy  was  an  aristocrat  by  birth,  a  democrat  from  choice, 
and  Monica  came  from  a  steady  middle-class  home,  and  felt 
an  inward  satisfaction  to  know  that  the  Rossiters  were  so- 
cially above  her,  though  she  would  not  have  admitted  it 
under  torture.  When  Cathy  laughed,  no  one  in  the  world 
who  listened  could  remain  altogether  serious.  She  knew 
her  own  world  well,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight  she  still 
remained  unmarried.  Love  had  come  to  her,  and  she  had 
lived  through  a  whole  avalanche  of  entreaty.  She  had  been 
sought  by  great  and  small  alike,  and  was  as  invincibly  at- 
tractive as  a  woman  well  can  be.  Yet  no  one  had  come  who 
had  ever  captured  her  whole  undivided  love,  though  she 
had  always  responded  in  a  measure.  You  could  no  more 


12  CATHY  ROSSITER 

keep  Cathy  from  showing  that  she  was  glad  to  be  loved  than 
you  could  keep  her  from  breathing.  Without  being  a  flirt, 
in  the  accepted  meaning  of  the  term,  she  flirted  desperately 
and  unconsciously,  and  she  was  perpetually  interested  in 
men. 

Towards  Cathy's  long  list  of  suitors  Monica  adopted  an 
attitude  of  amused  scorn.  She  could  not  believe  that  it  all 
happened  without  overt  act  on  the  part  of  her  friend,  and 
she  decided  that  Cathy's  wiles  were  well  considered,  and 
her  effects  the  result  of  considerable  care  and  attention.  It 
gave  her  a  further  sense  of  superiority,  and  she  looked  down 
upon  Cathy  as  though  from  a  cold  and  distant  height,  where 
she  stood,  proud,  lonely  and  aloof.  Cathy  got  mixed  up  in 
one  affair  after  another,  and  her  public  was  masculine. 
Furthermore,  Cathy  believed  in  men,  and  Monica  hadn't  a 
good  word  for  them. 

Cathy  lay  back  in  her  chair,  looking  at  her  friend  with  her 
soft  blue  eyes,  her  feet  stretched  out  to  the  wretched  fire. 

"I  ought  to  be  getting  ready  to  go  to  the  reception  at  the 
American  Embassy,"  she  said  in  her  wonderfully  modulated 
voice.  "Aunt  Amy  warned  me  that  I  was  to  go  with  her." 

Monica  put  down  a  thermometer  which  she  had  been 
looking  at ;  a  newly  invented  thermometer  of  which  she  ap- 
proved, and  she  intended  to  write  a  letter,  expressing  her 
approval,  to  the  inventor.  She  sat  down  by  the  table. 

"I  sometimes  wonder,"  she  said  reflectively,  "if  you  are 
always  honest  with  yourself,  Cathy.  You  profess  very 
extreme  views,  and  yet  you  are  walled  about  with  Debrett. 
Lady  Carstairs  usually  gets  you  to  agree  to  be  present  at 
most  of  these  functions,  either  in  her  house  or  elsewhere. 
Are  you  sure  that  you  don't  appreciate  them  more  than  you 
admit?" 

Cathy  gave  a  stifled  yawn. 

"You  see,  she  is  my  aunt,  and  I  live  in  her  house.  One 
has  to  be  civil.  Even  you  would  make  that  concession, 
Muggins.  I  am  a  trial,  but,  when  I  can,  I  do  my  best." 

Monica  nodded  silently.  She  was  never  sure  whether  she 
altogether  liked  the  adaptation  of  her  name,  a  relic  of  school 
days,  and  she  said  nothing. 


13 

"Aunt  Amy  is  a  dear,"  Cathy  went  on,  "and  she  often 
agrees  with  me.  She  is  absolutely  devoid  of  snobbery  at 
heart,  and  at  least  there  is  none  of  that  in  the  house." 

Monica  put  a  log  on  the  fire  carefully  as  she  spoke.  "You 
must  come  to  the  'Epoch'  Club.  We  had  a  splendid  meeting 
there" — she  grew  enthusiastic  as  she  recalled  it — "crowds 
of  men  and  women,  all  determined  to  get  their  rights." 

"Rights,"  Cathy  said,  repeating  the  word,  and  immedi- 
ately giving  it  the  value  of  her  own  voice.  "I  hate  the 
fever  of  the  'Epoch.'  They  are  destructive." 

Monica  went  back  to  her  chair,  and  looked  round  her 
room  thoughtfully. 

"We  can't  do  things  by  a  rule  of  smash,"  Cathy  contiriued, 
turning  a  large  diamond  ring  on  her  finger.  "Teach  people 
honour  and  integrity,  and  you  get  every  single  reform  that 
is  needed,  here." 

Monica  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  she  said,  and  her  mouth  drooped  at  the 
corners.  "You  are  only  an  echo  of  the  old  order;  a 
dreamer.  I  belong  to  the  people  who  act.  Even  when  I 
began  to  work  for  my  degree,  women  were  at  a  wretched 
disadvantage." 

Cathy  smiled  and  looked  at  the  fire.  She  knew  Monica's 
difficulties,  for  she  had  heard  them  all  countless  numbers  of 
times. 

"Have  you  heard  anything  of  Lilian?"  she  said,  turning 
her  head  and  looking  at  her  friend.  "She  has  the  courage 
of  her  opinions." 

"Yes,  and  it's  taking  her  to  the  Divorce  Courts,"  Monica 
replied,  picking  up  some  knitting  and  working  at  it  rapidly. 
"I  agree  that  it's  all  no  one  else's  affair,  but  the  question,  in 
my  mind,  is  rather  whether  one  has  to  stand  by  one's  friend, 
or  stand  on  a  general  principle." 

Cathy  held  out  her  beautifully  shaped  hands  to  the  blaze, 
and  considered  the  question. 

"Robert  made  her  life  wrong  for  her,"  she  said  slowly. 
"I  don't  see  how  either  you  or  I  are  to  decide.  It  is  simply 
ugly  to  be  unfaithful  or  promiscuous,  but  we  both  realise 
that  Lilian  is  neither.  It  isn't  easy  for  any  woman  to  give 


i4  CATHY  ROSSITER 

up  all  she  is  giving  up ;  I  can't  see  your  difficulty ;  she  needs 
her  friends." 

Monica  patted  her  thick  plait  and  continued  her  knitting. 

"I  don't  wish  to  see  our  standard  go  down  to  the  level 
which  is  good  enough  for  men,"  she  said,  a  touch  of  anger 
in  her  voice.  "Surely  you  feel  the  same,  Cathy?" 

"I'm  not  a  judge,  or  even  a  juryman,"  Cathy  said,  with 
a  soft  little  laugh.  "It  is  always  easy  to  accuse  the  woman 
of  selfishness.  All  the  martyrs  of  the  marriage  service  are 
open  to  that  jibe." 

"If  it  is  a  real  thing,  of  course,"  Monica  said,  flattening 
out  her  work  over  her  knee,  "it  is  different ;  but  if  it  is  only 
sheer  love  of  excitement " 

A  ring  at  the  door  interrupted  her  as  she  spoke,  and  both 
women  looked  up. 

"I  expect  it  is  the  car,"  Cathy  remarked,  "but  there's  no 
special  hurry.  It  never  takes  me  long  to  dress." 

"Do  try  to  be  tidy,"  Monica  said,  glancing  at  her  with  an 
indulgent  smile ;  "put  plenty  of  hairpins  in,  Cath." 

"Hairpins,  safety-pins  and  common  pins,"  Cathy  replied. 
"How  would  one  get  on  without  them?  I  trimmed  this 
hat,"  she  picked  it  up  from  a  chair,  "without  threading  a 
needle.  It's  rather  a  success,  and  I  think  it  suits  me." 

She  got  up,  and  began  to  collect  a  number  of  her  belong- 
ings which  she  had  strewn  around  her  when  she  came  in, 
and  was  still  looking  approvingly  at  her  hat  when  the  door 
of  the  room  was  opened,  and  a  woman  of  about  the  same 
age  as  Monica  stood  there  and  smiled  at  them.  She  was 
tall,  dark  and  graceful,  and  there  was  a  slight  suggestion  of 
hardness  round  the  lines  of  her  clever  mouth.  Her  eyes 
were  intelligent,  and  she  had  a  very  marked  touch  of  defi- 
ance in  her  manner,  even  though  she  held  out  both  hands  to 
Monica  and  Cathy. 

"Lilian !"  Cathy  said  impulsively,  as  she  kissed  her.  r'We 
were  just  talking  of  you."  She  threw  down  her  hat  again, 
and  Lilian  Amyas  took  a  chair  which  Monica  pushed  to  the 
centre  of  the  circle  of  light.  "Muggins  was  trying  to  be 
judicial,  weren't  you,  Mug?  And  we  had  actually  begun 
at  last  to  discuss  clothes — or  rather  pins." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  15 

The  new-comer  sat  down  and  drew  off  her  gloves,  and 
she  looked  at  Cathy,  and  then  at  Monica. 

"Am  I  to  make  a  confession  of  faith  ?"  she  asked  quickly. 
"I've  been  doing  it  for  weeks,  but  I'm  prepared  to  repeat 
it  all  over  again." 

"There  is  such  a  thing  as  principle,"  Monica  remarked. 
"You  can't  sweep  away  the  need  of  discipline,  it  gives  one 
confidence." 

"And  how  about  the  price  of  compulsion?"  Lilian  asked, 
with  the  same  touch  of  being  on  the  defensive.  "Indis- 
criminate obedience  is  shameful." 

"Tell  me  about  the  man,"  Cathy  said,  leaning  forward 
and  giving  her  friend's  arm  a  kindly  squeeze.  "I  know 
Robert,  and  I  don't  know  Anthony.  Let  me  begin  well,  Lil, 
by  seeing  him  through  your  eyes." 

"I  heard  that  he  did  well  in  France,"  Monica  said,  taking 
up  her  knitting  again. 

"And  came  out  of  it  without  a  decoration,"  Lilian  added. 
"He  hasn't  been  much  in  England,  and  is  hopelessly  out  of 
place  in  a  drawing-room." 

Cathy  leaned  back,  her  eyes  interested,  and  watching  her 
friend  closely.  Bit  by  bit,  Lilian  built  up  the  presentment 
of  Anthony  Hinton.  A  big,  dark-haired  man,  with  a  strong 
voice,  who  had  fought  his  way  through  life  with  bare  fists. 

As  she  presented  him  to  her  friends,  Lilian's  eyes  grew 
bright,  and  her  quick  words  followed  rapidly  one  on  the 
other.  His  grit,  his  sense  of  honour,  and  his  courage;  all 
these  things  were  known'  of  him,  for  he  was  perfectly  fear- 
less and  perfectly  unselfish. 

When  she  finished  speaking,  both  Monica  and  Cathy  were 
silent.  Cathy  was  thinking  of  Robert,  with  his  tremendously 
exotic  manner,  his  white  spats  and  effeminate  hands,  even 
the  bottle  of  aspirin  he  always  carried  in  his  pocket.  He 
had  been  engaged  in  literary  work  during  the  war;  writing 
up  articles  from  collected  reports,  and  also  writing  a  little 
poetry.  His  educated  voice  was  always  pleasant  to  listen  to, 
even  when  he  said  very  trifling  and  silly  things. 

Robert  desired  that  his  wife  should  paint  her  face  and 
look  like  a  demi-mondaine,  and  when  he  read  his  poems,  he 


1 6  CATHY  ROSSITER 

did  so  by  the.  light  of  two  altar  candles.  He  felt  sure  that 
no  good  thing  ever  came  from  anywhere  but  Eton  and  Ox- 
ford, and  as  he  had  been  the  product  of  the  school  he  loved, 
he  was  quite  sure  of  his  own  worthiness.  You  could  hardly 
treat  Robert  very  seriously,  and  yet,  once  he  stood  between 
Lilian  and  this  bushranger  of  hers,  he  became  such  a  prob- 
lem. He  had  never  liked  the  idea  of  Lilian  working  in  a 
canteen.  The  word,  he  said,  was  so  "hopeless."  If  it  had 
been  called  almost  anything  else  he  could  have  borne  with  it, 
and,  as  though  his  forebodings  had  some  real  ground  for 
existence,  it  was  there  that  Lilian  met  Anthony,  who  was 
then  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  trooper. 

How  did  one  adjudicate  between  Anthony  and  Robert? 
And  once  Anthony  had  come  in,  how  could  Lilian  go  back 
to  sit  in  Robert's  holy  of  holies  when  he  wrote  his  verses? 

Cathy  was  always  sorry  for  the  weak,  while  she  admired 
the  strong,  and  she  wondered  again  as  she  looked  at  Lilian. 
She  was  fighting  for  a  phase  of  liberty,  but,  as  Monica  said, 
how  then  did  one  grapple  with  the  question  of  principle  in 
the  abstract  ? 

Cathy  drew  a  long  breath. 

"You  could  hardly  help  loving  him  if  he  is  like  that," 
she  said,  feeling,  as  everyone  feels  when  questions  be- 
come personal,  that  it  is  the  people  involved  who  count. 

"It's  a  mercy  he  is  not  neurotic,"  Monica  remarked  in  a 
professional  voice.  "Anyhow,  Lil,  I  hope  you  will  be  happy 
and  not  become  disillusioned."  She  had  her  own  views 
about  Robert,  and  he  interested  her,  because  she  felt  that 
he  was  slightly  abnormal. 

Lilian  looked  at  the  fire.  She  was  well  aware  that  a  gulf 
was  widening  between  them,  and  she  did  not  very  greatly 
care.  Cathy  could  be  trusted  to  stick  to  a  friend  through 
anything,  because  she  was  sympathetic  and  always  fought 
for  a  lost  cause;  Monica  might  or  might  not.  She  would 
not  break  off  suddenly,  but  after  a  time  you  would  find 
that  she  had  drifted  out  of  range.  Her  enthusiasms  were 
all  public,  and  she  openly  admitted  that  she  gave  herself 
to  bigger  questions  than  mere  personal  difficulties. 

"I  shall  dream  about  him  to-night,"  Cathy  said,  as  she 


CATHY  ROSSITER  17 

took  up  her  hat  again,  and  fixed  one  or  two  reluctant  pins, 
for  the  car  had  been  announced. 

"You'll  be  far  too  much  interested  in  the  last  man  you 
have  met,"  Monica  remarked,  with  the  slightest  touch  of  a 
claw  hidden  under  a  velvet  pat  on  the  cheek.  "You  are  in- 
corrigible, Cathy,  and  always  will  be." 

Cathy  turned  at  the  door  and  looked  back  at  her  friends ; 
she  had  some  innate  quality  lacking  in  them  both,  and  it 
shone  through  her,  star-like,  intangible,  but  very  real. 

"She  is  such  a  darling,"  Lilian  said,  as  she  left  them  with 
a  gay  wave  of  her  hand. 

"She  uses  too  many  pins,"  Monica  replied,  "both  in  her 
clothes  and  in  her  ideas." 

"I  don't  think  I  agree."  Lilian  sat  down  again.  "I  ought 
to  be  going,  Muggins ;  it's  late,  isn't  it  ?" 

"One  day,"  went  on  Monica,  "she  will  marry  her  cousin, 
Lord  Twyford,  and  play  at  Socialism — ask  the  servants  to 
tea,  and  make  everyone  awkward  and  uncomfortable. 
Cathy's  Socialism  is  also  put  on  with  pins.  Obviously  she 
must  marry  Twyford." 

"Cathy  doesn't  bother  to  understand  anything  except  her 
own  feelings,  that  is  what  makes  one  so  sure  about  her," 
Lilian  said,  preparing  to  depart. 

"The  very  last  reason  for  being  sure  of  anyone,"  said 
Monica. 


CHAPTER  II 

CATHY  was  late  in  getting  back  and  late  in  getting  dressed. 
Her  aunt's  maid,  who  admired  her  tremendously,  could  only 
wring  her  hands.  There  was  no  time  to  do  her  hair  properly, 
and,  though  her  dress  was  ready  for  her,  Cathy  managed  to 
tear  some  of  the  saxe-blue  films  in  which  she  was  shrouded, 
so  that  her  beautiful  shoulders  shone  whitely  under  the 
gauze  which  covered  them ;  and  she  was  reduced  to  falling 
back  upon  pins,  as  they  were  preferable,  in  the  eyes  of  Lady 
Carstairs,  to  unpunctuality. 

There  was  a  brilliant  crowd  of  celebrities  at  the  Embassy 
that  evening,  and  Lady  Carstairs  and  Cathy  were  soon  di- 
vided one  from  the  other. 

Cathy  looked  around  her,  with  her  usual  quick  interest 
in  crowds  of  every  kind,  and  found  herself  near  Jerry 
Hazen,  one  of  the  secretaries,  a  man  she  always  liked.  He 
was  tall  and  spare,  and  when  he  smiled  he  closed  his  eyes, 
a  little  trick  which  amused  Cathy  and  made  her  watch  for 
it. 

People  flowed  past  and  around  her,  and  whenever  she 
began  to  talk  to  Hazen  she  was  immediately  interrupted  by 
someone  else,  who  wanted  to  say  that  it  was  cold,  or  that 
the  reception  was  unusually  crowded ;  and,  at  last,  she  made 
a  bid  for  freedom,  and  Hazen  took  her  to  a  low  seat  in  a  se- 
cluded corner.  He  felt  that  he  was  more  or  less  in  love  with 
Cathy,  and  he  was  always  elated  and  excited  to  be  near 
her.  A  bit  of  hjer  hair  had  come  down,  and  he  wondered 
whether  or  not  he  ought  to  tell  her,  as  he  watched  her  face. 
She  was  looking  at  the  room,  just  beyond  the  alcove,  and 
she  was  for  the  moment  unconscious  of  him. 

"Who  are  you  searching  for?"  he  asked.  "I  shall  be 
jealous  in  another  minute,  Miss  Rossiter." 

She  turned  her  look  of  immortal  mirth  towards  him. 

18 


CATHY  ROSSITER  19 

"No  one  and  everyone,"  she  said.  "I  always  love  a 
crowd.  It's  full  of  secrets." 

The  group  outside  the  alcove  broke  up  as  Amyas,  who 
was  standing  just  outside,  turned  and  peered  in  at  them. 
The  band  was  playing  the  National  Anthem,  and  the  guests 
in  the  room  beyond  had  all  been  standing  to  watch  the  Great 
People  go  by,  for  they  were  going  away. 

"Cathy,"  he  said,  and  he  laughed.  "Cathy,  by  George." 
He  came  towards  them  delicately.  "There's  a  rod  in  pickle 
for  you,"  he  said,  laughing  at  her,  and  holding  up  an  ad- 
monitory finger.  "She  has  been  talking  about  God,  I'm  sure 
of  it,  it's  her  obsession."  He  put  his  hand  on  Hazen's  shoul- 
der. "Quite  mad  on  the  subject,  aren't  you,  Cathy?" 

"I'm  not  a  monopolist,"  she  said.  "God  belongs  to  every 
one." 

"I  haven't  believed  in  that  fiction  since  I  was  twenty," 
Robert  remarked  with  a  shrug,  and  then  he  laughed  again. 
"Gods,  if  you  will;  gods  who  loved  like  men  and  sinned 
like  men." 

Cathy  looked  at  him  and  shook  her  head.  "You're  not 
even  a  good  modern,  Robert,  if  I  must  believe  you.  You're 
trundling  along,  centuries  back — a  hopeless  reactionary." 

Again  their  eyes  met,  as  Hazen  wished  her  good  night — 
there  was  no  use  staying  on  to  be  de  trop. 

"You  can't  go  yet,"  Robert  remarked  to  her  as  he  sat 
down.  "Twyford  must  wait.  Are  you  really  going  to 
marry  him,  Cathy?" 

She  laughed,  and  shook  her  head. 

"I  have  other  things  to  do  than  think  of  marriage,"  she 
said,  with  her  quick,  living  eyes  on  his  dark,  thin  face. 

"I'll  bet  anything  that  you  encourage  every  man  Jack  of 
them  all."  Amyas  half  closed  his  eyes,  and  smiled.  "You 
can't  help  it.  At  present  you  are  hypnotising  me,  and  adding 
me  to  the  list." 

"Why  in  the  world  should  I  want  you  ?"  she  said,  touch- 
ing his  arm.  "My  dear  Robert,  humility  is  a  virtue  which 
you  certainly  don't  seem  to  possess." 

"I  shall  be  what's  called  'a  free  man'  soon,"  he  replied, 


20  CATHY  ROSSITER 

and  his  mouth  twitched  slightly  at  the  corners.  "Have  you 
seen  anything  of  my  airy,  fairy  Lilian  ?" 

"I  saw  her  to-day."  Cathy  lowered  her  eyes.  No  one 
could  logically  be  expected  either  to  respect  or  love  Robert, 
but  he  was  hurt,  and  she  felt  for  him  at  once. 

"She  is  in  love,  as  you  know,  with  a  creature  of  beef 
and  muscle." 

"Be  fair,  Robert,  be  fair."    Cathy's  voice  was  imploring. 

"Oh,  these  things  happen,"  he  said,  with  an  assumption 
of  indifference;  "I  am  quite  calm  about  it.  Some  people 
like  beefsteak,  and,  if  they  do,  well,  I  suppose  they  must 
have  it.  She  will  be  bored  stiff — then,  by  God,  Cathy/'  he 
laughed  his  sophisticated  laugh,  "she'll  give  him  hell.  A 
sweet-tempered  woman,  Lilian;  you  might  guess  that  by 
the  set  of  her  chin." 

"Lil  is  one  of  my  greatest  friends,"  Cathy  said,  with  a 
touch  of  frost  in  her  voice.  "I  think  it  was  rather  wonder- 
ful of  her  to  have  stuck  you  as  long  as  she  has,  Robert. 
You  aren't  an  easy  man  to  get  on  with." 

"She  has  my  best  wishes  and  congratulations,"  he  said 
idly;  "it  will  be  amusing  enough  for  all  our  friends." 

Cathy  considered  for  a  second,  and  then  she  spoke  very 
earnestly. 

"Are  you  really  a  righteous  man  yourself?  You're  so 
shadowy,  that  I  often  can't  catch  hold  of  you  at  all.  You 
say  you  are  a  pagan,  yet,  now  that  your  own  roof  is  men- 
aced, you  see  the  use  of  laws,  and  so  on.  When  you  are 
dying,  you  will  send  for  the  nearest  clergyman  to  come  and 
say  prayers.  That's  the  kind  of  man  you  are." 

Amyas  sat  up  and  looked  at  her,  as  though  her  words  had 
stung  him  into  some  feeling  of  anger,  and  then  he  decided 
it  was  too  much  trouble,  and  he  subsided  again. 

"A  woman  can't  afford  to  do  things  of  the  kind,"  he  said, 
in  his  slightly  complaining  way.  "Lilian  will  get  it  in  the 
neck,  socially.  She  should  have  shown  more  gumption." 

"Conquer  herself  for  the  sake  of  the  conventions,  in 
fact?"  Cathy's  voice  was  scornful. 

"Oh,  call  it  that,  if  you  like.  A  little  common  sense  would 
be  all  to  the  good." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  21 

"If  you  said  that  she  was  bound  to  stick  to  a  principle," 
Cathy  spoke  with  growing  warmth,  "then  I  could  under- 
stand you." 

She  thought,  with  a  kind  of  historic  vision,  of  the  crowded 
masses  of  men  and  women  who  had  placed  an*  ideal,  clear 
to  them  if  not  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  above  all  else.  In- 
tensely human,  they  thronged  the  road  of  life,  with  their 
red  passions  and  burning  wrongs,  their  frenzied  rights,  their 
fighting  and  their  death,  all  carried  through  in  the  very 
world  where  she  herself  now  stood. 

"You  discard  principle,  and,  though  you  laugh  at  con- 
vention, you  profit  by  it  in  this  case  and  are  glad." 

"Laugh?  Of  course  I  laugh.  I  laugh  at  a  policeman, 
for  instance ;  you  can't  expect  me  to  do  anything  else  with 
him;  but,  all  the  same,  when  a  thief  steals  my  spoons,  I 
call  him  in.  Common  sense  again." 

"Now  you  are  back  to  property  rights,"  she  retorted. 
"This  man  of  Lilian's  couldn't  steal  her;  she  is  an  individual 
and  decides  for  herself." 

Robert  laughed  again. 

"Forgive  me,  Cathy,"  he  said,  "but  I  am  thinking  of  you 
and  Twyford,  later  on,  when  you  do  marry  him,  as  you 
certainly  will.  He  has  his  own  ideas." 

Cathy  was  thinking  again,  watching  the  people  in  the 
room  beyond. 

"It's  the  different  standard,"  she  said  suddenly;  "that's 
where  the  whole  thing  tumbles  to  bits.  Before  you  married 
Lilian,  were  you  a  Puritan,  Robert?" 

"I  may  have  been,"  he  said,  half  closing  one  eye,  with  a 
kind  of  lazy  impertinence.  "I  knew  my  way  about,  Cathy, 
if  that's  what  you  are  driving  at." 

"You  were  just  a  rather  nasty  little  boy,  and  you  grew 
nastier  as  you  went  on." 

"Cathy,  do  be  reasonable.  I  wasn't  any  different  to  the 
others."  Robert  spoke  in  tones  of  exasperation. 

"You  haven't  the  smallest  right  to  say  a  word,"  she  said. 
"What  have  you  been  teaching  Lilian  since  you  and  she 
were  married  ?  Love  of  honour,  high  aims,  love  of  the  poor 
or  the  helpless  ?  Love  of  a  clean  name,  of  any  real  beauty  ?" 


22  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"  'Here  the  speaker  was  interrupted  by  loud  cheering,' " 
Amyas  commented.  "Let  me  remind  you,  Cathy,  that  we 
live  in  London,  and  not  in  Hyde  Park.  By  the  way,  do  you 
mean  that  I  am  a  coward  and  a  hypocrite?  It  isn't  very 
civil  of  you." 

"You  have  the  backing  of  your  own  kind,"  she  said 
scornfully.  "It's  wrong,  dreadfully  wrong  somewhere." 
She  sighed,  and  opened  her  fan. 

"I  loved  Lilian,"  he  said,  glancing  at  her  lowered  eyes, 
"and  it's  not  altogether  easy  to  forget  her.  Give  me  credit 
for  that  much  sincerity." 

It  seemed  as  though  he  was  going  to  say  something  fur- 
ther, when  Cathy  looked  up  and  saw  that  her  cousin  was 
coming  towards  her.  He  was  a  man  of  middle  height,  with 
a  bright  colour  and  fair  hair.  Twyford  was  curiously  in- 
different, and  his  indifference  invaded  every  region  of  his 
mind,  except  that  inhabited  by  Cathy ;  he  did  not  care  what 
happened  to  anyone  else.  He  never  spoke  in  public,  though 
he  was  a  hereditary  legislator,  and  had  never  wished  to 
assist  any  cause,  nor  had  he  done  so,  and  yet  he  was  steady 
and  right-minded.  Women,  in  dozens,  had  tried  to  marry 
him,  and  he  had  once  been  in  love,  before  Cathy's  day 
dawned,  when  he  had  shown  all  the  necessary  common  sense, 
and  no  one  had  been  much  the  wiser  when  it  all  ended. 

His  coming  made  an  end  to  further  talk  between  Robert 
and  Cathy,  and  silenced  her  longing  to  say  to  Amyas  that, 
if  he  had  really  loved  Lilian  or  loved  her  still,  he  would  not 
be  thinking  of  what  the  world  was  going  to  do,  the  conven- 
tional world,  to  which  he  boasted  himself  superior.  He 
hadn't  even  an  angry  god  to  stand  at  his  side,  but  he  was 
glad,  because,  as  it  were,  he  knew  that  there  were  butchers 
about  who  slaughtered  reputations.  But  he  did  not  dwell  in 
the  green  pastures,  and  no  one  had  said  to  him,  "My  peace 
I  give  unto  you." 

Robert  hailed  Twyford  once  he  saw  that  his  coming  was 
inevitable,  and  Cathy  rose  to  her  feet.  He  watched  her  as 
she  smiled  at  her  cousin.  Trust  Cathy  to  smile  at  a  man. 
She  smiled  so  readily — too  readily,  he  fancied. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  23 

"I'm  so  sorry" ;  she  became  repentant  at  once,  ard  Twy- 
ford  stared  at  her,  as  was  his  habit. 

"Aunt  Amy  has  got  the  jumps,"  he  said;  "she  wants  to 
leave,  and,  as  usual,  can't  find  you.  You've  been  like  a 
needle  in  a  bundle  of  hay  to-night." 

"Do  think  of  an  original  simile,"  Cathy  said,  turning  a 
valedictory  smile  towards  Amyas.  "Good  night,  Robert, 
I'm  glad  we  had  a  talk." 

"It  was  a  very  one-sided  affair,"  he  replied,  rocking  him- 
self a  little  on  his  long  legs.  "Cathy's  preparing  to  take 
Holy  Orders,  Twyford ;  it's  a  bit  of  a  bore." 

"We  shall  be  the  last  to  leave  as  it  is,"  Twyford  said 
impatiently. 

"Well,  what  if  we  are?"  Cathy  retorted.  "It  shows  how 
much  we  enjoyed  the  evening." 


CHAPTER  III 

THERE  was  trouble  and  commotion  in  the  house  of  Lady 
Carstairs ;  the  big,  spacious  house  in  Cavendish  Square. 

Properly  speaking,  the  trouble  belonged  to  the  school- 
room quarters,  but  it  had  leaked  painfully  through,  like 
some  trickle  of  ugly  colour,  and  made  its  way  elsewhere. 
The  governess,  Miss  Batten,  who  was  there  to  superintend 
the  training  of  Elizabeth  and  Constance,  Lady  Carstairs' 
twin  grand-daughters,  was  young  and  pretty,  in  a  colour- 
less fashion,  and  led  a  secluded  existence  in  the  dim  land 
that  stretches  between  the  employer's  own  domain  and  the 
servants'  hall.  It  was  rather  a  dull  place  for  a  young  girl, 
and  when  kind  Lady  Margaret  Roper  gave  a  small  dance, 
she  suggested  that  Miss  Batten  might  be  allowed  to  be 
numbered  among  the  guests.  It  all  should  have  turned  out 
well,  because  the  motive  was  a  good  one,  if  Miss  Batten  had 
not  lost  her  ridiculously  fluffy  head.  She  had,  one  may 
suppose,  lived  too  much  on  dreams,  and  to  get  away  from 
grammars  was  in  itself  too  intoxicating  for  such  as  she. 
Lady  Carstairs  regarded  her  kindly  before  she  left,  and 
made  one  of  her  usual  remarks.  Everyone  who  knew  Lady 
Carstairs  knew  what  she  was  likely  to  say.  She  said,  "it 
never  rains  but  it  pours,"  and  that,  "there  are  always  faults 
on  both  sides";  she  also  said  that  "marriage  is  a  lottery," 
and  that  "truth  is  stranger  than  fiction";  and  she  made 
some  statement  of  the  same  kind  when  luckless  Miss  Batten 
was  swept  off  in  pursuit  of  pleasure. 

Miss  Batten  enjoyed  the  dance.  She  knew  no  one  when 
she  got  there,  and  Lady  Margaret  introduced  her  to  a  man 
who  also  knew  no  one.  He  had  been  brought  by  Mr.  Otho 
Adamson,  a  young  and  rather  headlong  nephew  of  the  host- 
ess. The  man,  whose  name,  it  transpired,  was  Taylor,  was 
a  tall,  garish  individual ;  a  person  whom,  you  might  hesitate 

24 


25 

to  introduce  to  a  debutante,  but  quite  suitable  for  a  govern- 
ess. Otho  admitted  afterwards  that  he  knew  him  at  his 
Club,  believed  that  he  came  from  Australia,  and  that,  as 
he  had  been  instructed  to  find  enough  dancing  men,  he  had, 
on  an  impulse  of  hospitality,  requested  the  lanky  stranger 
to  "come  along."  He  had  once  given  him  a  reliable  tip  at 
Doncaster,  and — here  Otho  fell  back  on  the  excuse  that  you 
expected  people  to  know  how  to  behave. 

Soon  after  the  early  part  of  the  evening  had  gone  through, 
Miss  Batten,  and  the  man  from  Australia  called  Taylor,  had 
disappeared,  and  when  the  eager  dancers  were  still  hard  at 
it,  dancing  to  "God  Save  the  King,"  she  was  still  absent. 
In  the  end  she  did  appear,  in  company  with  Mr.  Taylor, 
who  looked,  so  report  had  it,  more  like  the  Flying  Dutchman 
than  ever,  and  Lady  Margaret,  alone  in  the  empty  drawing- 
room  with  its  lights  nearly  all  extinguished,  took  a  grim 
farewell  of  her. 

Next  day  Lady  Margaret  called  on  Lady  Carstairs  and 
spoke  to  her  quite  frankly.  She  did  not  think  Miss  Batten 
could  exercise  "a  good  influence  over  girls."  This  was 
paying  Miss  Batten  rather  a  handsome  compliment,  for  she 
had  never  influenced  any  living  being  in  all  her  hapless  days. 
Lady  Carstairs  felt  distressed,  and  said  that  "there  were 
faults  on  both  sides,"  and  that  "it  was  never  too  late  to 
mend,"  and  decided  to  hush  up  the  whole  thing.  Cathy 
took  the  part  of  the  governess,  and  blamed  Lady  Margaret 
for  handing  her  over  to  a  man  with  a  large  nose  and  a 
heavy  moustache,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  dined  too  well; 
and  so  the  incident  passed  into  oblivion  and  Miss  Batten 
was  pardoned. 

"She  must  have  been  very  hysterical,"  Lady  Carstairs 
said,  when  she  described  the  interview  to  Cathy,  "because 
she  said  she  'wished  she  had  been  dead'  before  she  went  to 
dear  Margaret's  little  dance.  What  an  odd  thing  to  say." 

Time  went  on,  and  Miss  Batten  with  it,  and  time  also 
disclosed  the  inevitable  truth,  and  the  morning  after  the 
reception  at  the  American  Embassy,  Lady  Carstairs  was 
called  to  her  governess's  room,  to  find  that  Miss  Batten  was 
ill.  The  nature  of  her  illness  was  so  shocking,  that  Lady 


26  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Carstairs  forgot  to  say  that  it  was  the  unexpected  which 
always  happened. 

"She  has  told  me  everything,"  she  said,  sitting  down  near 
the  fire  in  Cathy's  room.  "It  was  that  disreputable  friend 
of  Otho's.  He  is  probably  married.  I  believe  all  Austra- 
lians are  before  they  leave  their  own  country,  and,  in  any 
case,  a  man  who  would  behave  like  that " 

"Couldn't  be  trusted  to  marry  any  woman,"  Cathy  said. 
"I  quite  agree  with  you,  Aunt  Amy." 

"Not  that  at  all,  my  dear,"  Lady  Carstairs  replied.  "If 
he  could  be  induced  to,  it  would  be  a  blessing  in  every  way ; 
but  I  rang  up  Otho,  who  knows  nothing  whatever  about 
him,  nothing  whatever — oh,  really,  it  is  very  dreadful." 

"Something  must  be  done  for  poor  Batkins,"  Cathy  said, 
getting  up  and  standing  by  the  fire. 

She  was  thinking  of  the  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  newly 
created  spirits  who  came  into  the  world  day  after  day; 
wasn't  it  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells  who  had  seen  a  vision  of  a  stream 
of  babies  pouring  down  a  pipe  into  a  gutter? 

"I'll  go  and  see  Monica,"  she  said,  "when  I  have  talked 
to  Miss  Batten.  Monica  will  know  what  it  is  best  to  do 
with  her." 

"She  behaved  dreadfully  badly,  and  of  course  the  girl  is 
ruined,"  Lady  Carstairs  said  sadly ;  "yet,  really,  Cathy,  who 
could  have  foreseen  such  a  thing?  Margaret  acted  out  of 
kindness,  and  one  expects  people  to  behave  decently." 

Cathy  hurried  out  of  the  room,  and  went  upstairs  to  Miss 
Batten's  landing.  She  felt  that  the  governess  was  faced 
by  the  most  awful  punishment  which  can  fall  upon  living 
woman,  and  for  the  sake  of  what?  What  had  she  been 
thinking  of?  How  could  she?  The  man  was,  so  she  had 
heard,  a  coarse  looking  creature,  with  hot  eyes  and  a  grin. 
How  could  it  be  explained  within  the  limits  of  reason  ?  She, 
who  had  everything  to  lose  by  such  a  hazard,  and  nothing 
whatever  to  gain.  Did  some  madness  possess  her,  or  had 
the  airless  civilisation  and  gentility  of  her  lot  reacted  sud- 
denly, and  had  she  leapt  full  into  an  hour  of  wild  revolt, 
desecrating  her  altars  and  dancing  on  the  lesson  books — and 
all  under  Lady  Margaret's  roof?  Any  sane  person  might 


CATHY  ROSSITER  27 

be  capable  of  an  hour  of  madness,  but  the  price  of  it,  in  this 
case,  was  staggering. 

Knocking  at  Miss  Batten's  door,  she  went  in,  and  found 
her  sitting  by  the  fire,  dejected  and  wretched,  her  face 
smeared  with  crying  and  her  eyes  heavy  with  grief.  There 
should  be  something  which  one  ought  to  be  able  to  say  to 
help  her.  Was  it  any  use  to  tell  Miss  Batten  that  "morality 
was  merely  a  geographical  condition,"  and  that,  in  some 
other  country,  she  wouldn't  be  regarded  as  a  pariah?  Miss 
Batten  raised  her  bruised  eyes  and  looked  at  her,  out  of  the 
depths. 

"Batkins,"  Cathy  said,  crossing  the  room  and  taking  her 
cold  hands  impulsively,  "don't  take  it  so  hard." 

"I  wish  I  were  dead,  dead,"  moaned  Miss  Batten.  "It's 
all  awful,  you  don't  know  how  awful." 

"I  know  in  a  kind  of  way,"  Cathy  looked  at  her  earnestly, 
"but  there  must  be  a  brave  way  out.  We  are  given  a  chance 
here  to  face  consequences,  and  you  have  to  be  desperately 
brave." 

"I'm  terrified,"  the  girl  hid  her  face  on  Cathy's  shoulder. 
"My  people,  for  instance;  they  will  disown  me." 

Cathy  was  looking  over  her  head,  through  the  window, 
The  mystery  of  life  was  so  tense,  and  there  was  not  one 
gleam  of  divinity  or  beauty  in  the  incident  which  had  gone 
to  the  making  of  the  trouble. 

"He  said  that  it  would  be  all  right,"  Miss  Batten's  words 
came  stifled  and  smothered.  "Everyone  did  it;  all  the 

smart  people  and  the  fashionable  people,  and  that "  her 

voice  was  choked  with  sobbing. 

Cathy  thought  of  Robert  Amyas,  who,  before  he  had 
married,  "knew  his  way  about."  What  were  they  all  think- 
ing of,  she  wondered,  to  accept  such  a  ridiculously  one- 
sided dictum? 

"Don't  think  of  the  man,"  she  said  quickly ;  "forget  him." 

Miss  Batten  raised  her  head,  and  her  face  looked  yellow 
and  drawn. 

"Yet  he  is  responsible,"  she  spoke  with  a  kind  of  dull 
rage.  "No  one  will  do  anything  to  him.  I  lose  my  whole 
life,  and  how  I  am  to  live  at  all  I  don't  know.  I'm  not  say- 


28  CATHY  ROSSITER 

ing  that  I  did  not  know  it  was  wrong,  I  did  know ;  but  some- 
thing came  over  me,  and  I  lost  myself,  and  now,"  she 
sobbed  afresh,  "I  can't  face  anyone  again.  My  people  will 
disown  me." 

Her  litany  always  ended  on  the  same  note,  and  Cathy 
wondered  why  it  was  that,  just  when  they  were  so  urgently 
needed,  they  should  fail  and  turn  away. 

"Are  you  sure?"  she  asked.     "Perhaps  you  are  wrong.' 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not,"  Miss  Batten's  voice  was  unhesitating; 
"they  are  very  strict  and  self-respecting,  and  also  very 
religious.  I  am  dead  to  them,  and  I  wish  I  were  really 
dead!" 

They  were  "strict,  self-respecting  and  very  religious," 
but  they  had  no  use  for  the  miserable  lost  sheep,  who  was 
so  absurdly  like  a  sheep,  as  she  sat  and  mopped  her  dim 
eyes.  She  was  silly,  sentimental  and  hungry  for  love,  and 
she  would  have  outworn  all  that,  had  it  not  been  for  Lady 
Margaret's  kind  thought,  and  come  to  an  early  middle-age, 
respected  and  liked  by  the  pupils  she  had  taught.  There 
was  not  the  least  spice  of  the  devil  in  the  girl  to  brave  her 
through,  and  her  gods,  who  were  reproductions  of  her  par- 
ents, were  also  angry  and  hid  their  faces  from  her. 

Cathy  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"It's  my  awful  lack  of  principle,"  Miss  Batten  said,  cry- 
ing afresh.  "When  I  went  to  Lady  Margaret's  dance  I  was 
perfectly  happy " 

Cathy's  voice  was  firm.  "All  that  matters  now  is  that 
you  should  pull  yourself  together.  We  know  all  about  it, 
Aunt  Amy  and  I,  and  you  aren't  alone  with  the  misery  any 
more." 

There  was  no  use  talking  to  poor  Miss  Batten.  All  the 
sacredness  had  been  pushed  out  of  her  life  with  one  sweep, 
and  she  was  broken.  Even  love  was  remote  from  her,  and 
the  story  was  likely  to  become  a  kind  of  joke.  Lady  Mar- 
garet was  the  most  correct  of  hostesses,  Miss  Batten  the 
most  unlikely  guest  to  cause  confusion;  but  Bacchus  had 
passed  along,  and,  for  an  irredeemable  second,  Miss  Batten 
put  on  the  leopard  skin  and  rushed  after  him.  Shallow, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  29 

weak,  at  the  mercy  of  the  man  with  the  large  nose,  she  had 
gone  down  to  disaster. 

As  Cathy  went  out  and  on  to  Monica's  house,  she  worked 
herself  up  into  a  feeling  of  rage.  Muggins  would  help  her 
to  see  more  clearly,  for  incidents  of  the  kind  were  the  com- 
monplace of  her  days.  She  would  be  able  to  help  and 
assist,  and  her  sympathies  were  always  strongly  on  the  side 
of  the  weak. 

Monica  was  wearing  her  hat,  and  had  set  out  a  table  for 
tea;  and  she  looked  unusually  pretty.  Her  pale  face  was 
flushed  and  her  eyes  bright,  and  she  greeted  Cathy  with  an 
enthusiasm  not  wholly  connected  with  her  arrival.  Cathy 
looked  at  the  table  and  noted  a  box  of  cigarettes  and  a  cake 

"Is  it  a  party?"  she  asked.  "Oh,  Mug,  I  wanted  you  to 
myself." 

Monica  smiled,  and  put  her  arm  over  her  friend's  shoul- 
der. 

"Not  a  party,  no,"  she  said  in  a  gay  voice;  "only  Jack 
Lorrimer.  He's  an  old  friend,  and  now  he  is  back  and  out 
of  the  army." 

"Well,  I  wish  he'd  stayed  where  he  was,"  Cathy  said 
petulantly,  raising  her  beautiful  eyebrows  in  a  kind  of  pro- 
test. "You  are  thinking  of  him,  and  not  of  what  I  want 
to  talk  about." 

"Can't  I  have  even  one  man  friend  ?"  Monica  said,  with  a 
playful  pretence  at  reproach.  "Really,  Cathy,  you  are  rather 
greedy.  But  what's  up?" 

Cathy  took  off  her  fur  coat  and  adjusted  her  close  velvet 
hat  so  that  the  wing  was  all  on  one  side. 

"It's  Batkins,"  she  said ;  "Batkins  has  gone  a  mucker." 

"Miss  Batten,  your  aunt's  governess?" 

"Exactly.  She  went  to  a  dance,  Mug,  and  some  beast  of 
a  man  got  hold  of  her  and " 

"Did  the  trick,"  said  Monica  shortly.  "Poor  girl.  How 
old  is  she?" 

"Twenty-seven.  She  was  nursery  gov.  to  Elizabeth  and 
Constance.  Took  them  for  walks  and  taught  them  gram- 
mar." 


30  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"I  suppose  all  you  people  are  fearfully  shocked,"  Monica 
remarked,  with  a  twist  of  her  mouth. 

"Some  of  us,"  Cathy  agreed.  "Don't  be  too  much  out- 
raged, Mug,  we  all  know  so  little." 

"And  yet  you'll  dance  with  the  man,  and  ask  him  to  dine, 
and  one  of  you  will  marry  him."  Monica's  scorn  intensi- 
fied. 

"I  shall  not,"  Cathy  spoke  with  some  heat. 

"Not  this  special  one,  because  you've  had  a  chance  to 
understand  the  workings  of  things,  but  others,  Cathy,  others. 
Why,  there  is  your  own  friend,  Sir  Hector  Foulkes;  his 
record  is  as  dirty  as  it  well  may  be.  What  about  poor  little 
Esther  Kynaston?" 

Cathy  looked  at  the  fire. 

"It's  quite  true,"  she  admitted  sadly.  "I  have  danced 
with  Hector  often  since,  and  he  stays  about  everywhere. 
But  I  did  go  to  see  Esther,  only  she  wouldn't  have  anything 
to  do  with  me." 

"And  I  don't  blame  her,"  Monica  gave  a  quick  sound  of 
anger;  "she  has  some  pride." 

"Can't  you  do  something,  and  help  me  about  Batkins  ?" 

Monica  went  to  her  table  and  took  up  a  paper. 

"This  is  the  place,"  she  said.  "I  am  one  of  the  visiting 
doctors,  and  I'll  look  after  her."  She  stood  in  the  centre 
of  the  room  and  looked  at  Cathy.  "I'll  try  and  get  some 
sense  into  her  silly  head.  Oh,  you  all  make  me  rabid.  You 
won't  face  any  facts.  Miss  Batten  is  a  human  being,  and, 
if  she  was  married  to  a  tinker,  you'd  regard  her  child  as 
a  perfectly  right  and  proper  result.  She  was  starving  for 
sheer  magnetism,  and,  worked  up  by  the  music  and  the  sur- 
roundings, she  hadn't  an  ounce  of  resistance  in  her." 

Cathy  moved  uncomfortably.  When  Monica  began  to 
speak  plainly  she  had  a  way  of  making  her  feel  intensely 
uncomfortable.  Nebulous  things  became  close,  clear  and 
ugly,  and  the  world  revealed  a  visage  which  grimaced  at 
her  elbow. 

"I  want  to  help  her,"  she  said ;  "I  can't  think  of  whether 
it's  good  or  bad." 

"There  you  are,"  Monica  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  31 

Cathy  shook  her  head.  She  knew  that  it  would  be  a  fine 
thing  if  one  had  the  courage  to  face  the  whole  of  life,  and 
that  it  was  wiser  to  train  the  faculties  as  Monica  had  trained 
them,  all  ready  for  battle.  She  had  disciplined  strength  at 
her  disposal,  and  could  go  to  war  with  the  great  allied 
powers  of  the  world  and  the  flesh. 

"I  can't  bear  to  know  ugly  and  cruel  things,  Muggins," 
she  said,  almost  pleadingly,  "and  it's  no  use  telling  me." 

"Well,  it  comes  to  this,"  Monica  Henstock  said,  with  a 
slight  movement  of  her  shoulders,  "Miss  Batten  inherits  the 
existing  conventional  justice  meted  out  by  the  respectable. 
She  bears  the  disgrace,  the  danger,  the  whole  burden;  and 
she  is  only  one  of  many." 

"Mug,  dear,  don't  preach."  Cathy  got  up  and  looked  at 
herself  in  a  small  glass  over  the  mantelpiece,  "I  don't  be- 
lieve in  casting  any  one  out;  I  simply  couldn't  do  it." 

There  was  a  sound  from  the  hall  of  an  arrival,  and 
Monica's  face  changed.  She  grew  suddenly  soft  and  gentle, 
and  the  fire  died  from  her  eyes.  Cathy  was  not  watching 
her.  She  turned  when  she  heard  a  man's  voice.  "Oh,  Mug, 
I'm  de  trap;  I  should  not  be  here;  but  I'll  only  stay  a  very 
little  time.  I  must  see — what  was  his  name?" 

"Colonel  Lorrimer,"  Monica  replied,  and  her  eyes  were 
guarded.  < 

You  couldn't  have  told  whether  she  wanted  Cathy  to  stay 
or  not,  and  probably  she  herself  was  not  altogether  sure. 

"I  know  some  Lorrimers,"  Cathy  said,  "Kentish  people. 
I  stayed  with  them  once " 

"Not  the  same,"  Monica  said,  with  a  touch  of  sharpness. 
"Jack  isn't  anybody,  any  more  than  I  am.  We're  both 
middle-class." 

Muggins  was  always  almost  unaccountably  touchy  when 
Cathy  asked  who  any  one  was. 

"My  Lorrimers  aren't  anything  frightfully  aristocratic," 
Cathy  said,  apologising  at  once.  "I  only  wanted  to  know 
out  of  curiosity.  I'm  always  interested  in  people." 


CHAPTER  IV 

CATHY  liked  Jack  Lorrimer  at  once.  He  was  large  and 
commanding,  and  though  he  was  weather-beaten  he  did 
not  look  hard.  He  was  a  man  of  about  forty,  with  a  tend- 
ency to  put  on  weight,  which  he  combated  skilfully,  partly 
because  he  went  to  a  good  tailor,  and  partly  because,  of 
late,  he  had  been  leading  an  active  life  which  had  fined 
him  down.  His  hair  was  short  and  smooth,  his  forehead 
narrow,  and  he  had  regular  features,  marred  by  a  heaviness 
around  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  and  his  clipped  moustache 
did  not  hide  the  full,  loose  lines  of  his  mouth. 

His  coming  brought  a  fresh  element  into  the  room.  Be- 
fore he  came  they  had  been  two  women  discussing  life  in 
secret  feminine  pastures  where  no  man  ever  penetrates; 
Colonel  Lorrimer  drove  away  the  rancours  and  antagonisms 
which  had  somehow  begun  to  creep  into  the  argument,  and 
Monica  greeted  him  with  shining  eyes.  She  was  immensely 
proud  of  him  as  he  stood  there,  returning  her  smile. 

Cathy  made  ready  to  leave  them,  but  she  stood  watching 
Lorrimer  with  her  eternal  and  provoking  interest.  He 
could  not  be  supposed  to  know  that  she  looked  at  every- 
one like  that,  when  he  turned,  as  Monica  made  the  introduc- 
tion. 

Cathy  looked  very  vivid  in  the  dull  green  of  the  room, 
with  its  sad,  faded  note,  and  her  fur  coat  was  a  beautiful 
and  expensive  garment.  The  blue  wing  in  her  hat  called 
out  the  colour  of  her  eyes,  and  her  face  was  slightly  flushed. 
In  her  hands  she  held  a  bunch  of  violets,  deep  purple  in 
colour,  and  she  smiled  at  him  with  her  quick,  wonderful 
smile. 

"You  have  often  heard  me  talk  of  Cathy  Rossiter,"  Mon- 
ica said,  "here  she  is,  Jack." 

Colonel  Lorrimer  advanced  a  little  awkwardly.  He  had 

32 


CATHY  ROSSITER  33 

a  trick  of  sticking  out  his  elbows  when  he  was  impressed,  or 
desired  to  be  impressive,  and  he  did  so  now. 

He  seemed  to  fill  the  room  with  himself  and  his  conversa- 
tion, but  it  was  quite  right  that  he  should.  He  sat  down  as 
though  Monica's  room  belonged  to  him.  He  was  possessive ; 
that  was  Jack  Lorrimer's  main  attribute,  and  though  the 
suggestion  was  tentative  and  remote,  he  flung  a  filmy  strand 
in  the  direction  of  Cathy,  like  a  stout  and  handsome  spider, 
and  prevented  her  departure. 

"She  mustn't  go  without  tea,"  he  said;  "don't  let  her, 
Monica." 

Monica  looked  at  Cathy  over  the  copper  hot  water  kettle 
which  was  burning  on  the  electric  ring,  and  saw  that  Lorri- 
mer  had  made  exactly  the  impression  she  expected.  She 
wanted  Cathy  to  like  him ;  she  was  one  of  her  oldest  friends, 
and  "later  on"  it  would  be  very  nice  if  they  got  on  happily 
together. 

She  had  been  interested  in  Jack  Lorrimer,  whose  people 
lived  in  the  semi-detached  house  next  to  her  own  home, 
since  she  wore  a  pigtail,  and  before  she  had  been  sent  abroad 
to  school ;  and  she  had  fallen  out  of  love  with  him  because 
he  felt  that  women  would  become  "unsexed"  if  they  had  the 
privilege  of  making  a  cross  on  a  voting  paper.  She  had  lost 
him  completely  in  the  winding  ways  of  life,  and  found  him 
again,  rather  unexpectedly,  through  a  letter  he  had  written 
to  her  during  a  long  and  dull  time  in  Kut.  Lorrimer  had 
revived  a  number  of  old  memories  during  that  period,  but 
none  turned  out  so  successfully  as  Monica.  She  was  a 
good  letter  writer,  of  the  exact  kind,  and  she  wrote  him 
pages.  She  found  out  what  he  wanted  and  sent  parcels  to 
him,  she  also  sent  him  papers  and  books,  until  Lorrimer 
began  to  count  a  great  deal  on  her  faithful  and  tireless 
ministrations. 

For  a  whole  year  Monica  had  been  gradually  gathering 
herself  around  Jack  Lorrimer,  and,  though  she  made  no 
admissions,  she  had  really  decided  to  take  the  ultimate  step 
and  marry  him  as  soon  as  he  got  home.  He  was  leaving 
the  army,  and  had  done  well,  she  believed.  He  had  his 
D.S.O.,  and,  though  he  was  not  in  the  eye  of  the  public,  he 


34  CATHY  ROSSITER 

was  entirely  creditable.  Furthermore,  and  Monica  was  not 
above  taking  such  a  fact  into  consideration,  he  was  now  a 
rich  man,  having  inherited  money  from  an  uncle. 

Monica  had  her  profession,  and  had  made  her  way,  and, 
even  though  she  knew  that  she  longed  almost  wildly  to  feel 
his  arms  around  her,  she  was  not  going  to  capitulate,  nor 
were  the  walls  to  fall  at  the  first  blare  of  the  trumpet. 

As  she  made  tea  she  felt  glad  that  the  moment  had  been 
postponed.  She  was  agitated  by  the  meeting,  her  hands 
shook,  and  it  was  well  to  have  time  to  compose  herself  again. 
He  sat  and  chattered  at  Cathy,  his  schoolboy  suggestion  ac- 
centuated and  his  solidity  and  neatness  very  marked  indeed. 
The  years  since  Monica  and  he  had  met  had  aged  him,  and 
put  lines  round  his  eyes,  loosened  the  over-fullness  of  his 
mouth,  and  left  him  a  happy  materialist.  He  was  telling 
Cathy  a  series  of  stories  which  they  both  enjoyed,  and, 
every  now  and  then,  he  included  Monica  in  their  talk. 

Cathy  saw  him  as  Monica's  man  friend — the  one  rare 
bird  whom  Monica  permitted  to  enter  through  her  virgin 
door — and  she  felt  the  hardiness  and  vigour  of  his  physical 
strength.  He  was  far  too  large  for  the  room,  and  his  voice 
resounded  in  the  small  space;  he  kept  his  legs  tucked  away 
as  best  he  could,  because  Monica  tripped  over  them,  and 
everything  about  him  was  warm  and  alive,  except,  perhaps, 
for  his  eyes,  which  were  disappointing,  for  they  were  col- 
ourless and  rather  dull.  There  was  something  pebble-like 
about  them,  and  they  did  not  reflect  his  mood.  Still,  he  was 
wonderfully  joyful  and  almost  triumphant.  He  had  been 
to  the  War  Office,  and  had  told  them  there  what  he  thought 
of  them. 

"My  pension  doesn't  matter  to  me  now,"  he  explained. 
"It  used  to  be  the  blot  in  the  sun,  but  now  I'm  lucky  enough 
to  be  independent.  An  old  uncle  of  mine  died,  and  left  a 
whole  pile  of  pennies  to  me." 

Cathy  was  interested  in  Lorrimer's  uncle,  and  asked  a  few 
questions,  while  Monica  poured  the  boiling  water  into  the 
tea-pot.  She  wondered  what  Lorrimer  would  say.  If  he 
told  Cathy  that  his  uncle  had  begun  as  a  miner,  she  would 
at  once  think  a  great  deal  of  the  nephew,  but  Monica 


CATHY  ROSSITER  35 

guessed  that  the  Lorrimers  were  unlikely  to  advertise  the 
fact. 

Colonel  Lorrimer  leaned  back,  and,  crossing  his  legs,  he 
explained  to  Cathy  that  Walter  Baggett  had  been  a  suc- 
cessful investor,  a  recluse,  who  never  saw  any  one  and  who 
never  allowed  his  relatives  near  him. 

"The  old  man  was  always  good  to  me/'  he  said.  "We 
were  awfully  poor,  Miss  Rossiter,  and  life  was  a  tussle,  as 
Monica  probably  remembers.  I  couldn't  have  taken  my 
commission,  or  gone  up  for  Sandhurst,  only  for  him,  though 
he  wasn't  very  generous  then.  However,  when  he  died,  I 
got  his  savings.  Do  forgive  me  for  talking  like  this,"  he 
added,  "it  can't  be  of  the  least  interest  to  you."  He  turned 
quickly,  and  began  to  laugh  at  Monica,  reminding  her  of  an 
old  habit  of  hers  as  a  child,  of  saying  that  "her  little  finger" 
told  her  things. 

"What  is  your  little  finger  telling  you  now  ?"  he  asked. 

"Mine  tells  me  that  I  must  go,"  Cathy  said,  getting  up 
and  putting  her  arm  over  Monica's  shoulder. 

"Won't  you  come  and  see  me,  Colonel  Lorrimer?  It's 
no  use  asking  Muggins,  she  doesn't  ever  come,  but  perhaps 
you  will." 

"Is  there  anything  more  you  want  to  ask  me,  dearest?" 
Monica  said,  holding  Cathy's  hand  against  her  face.  "About 
that  business?" 

"I  have  got  the  address,"  Cathy  said,  suddenly  returning 
to  the  subject  of  her  visit.  "Batkins  can  go  there  any 
time?"  v 

"Not  'any  time,' "  Monica  said.  "How  like  you,  Cathy. 
The  Home  is  crammed;  but  I'll  ring  you  up  and  let  you 
know  when  she  can  go.  Meanwhile,  be  kind  to  the  poor 
soul,  and  try  to  understand  her." 

Cathy's  sensitive  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  looked  hurt, 
but  it  was  Lorrimer  who  spoke. 

"I  should  have  thought  your  advice  quite  unnecessary." 
Their  eyes  met,  and  Cathy  gave  him  a  glance  of  gratitude. 

"I'm  not  an  ogress,  Mug,  and  I  have  told  you  how  sorry 
I  am,"  she  said,  half  petulantly. 
.     "I'm  not  talking  about  you."  Monica  got  up,  and,  with  her 


36  CATHY  ROSSITER 

hand  on  Cathy's  arm,  walked  to  the  door.  "I  was  only 
thinking  of  your  world,  your  aristocratic  world,  Cath,  where 
rotters  abound.  Save  her  from  them;  don't  let  them  turn 
her  into  a  joke,  and  when  they  sneer  at  her " 

"They  won't  see  her."  Cathy  was  growing  restive.  "Aunt 
Amy  is  frightfully  kind,  and  you  may  trust  us  to  make  it  all 
easy.  After  all,  Muggins,  I  hold  no  brief  for  the  rotters, 
but  we  aren't  fiends." 

"You,  again."  Monica  laughed  and  kissed  her.  "How 
easy  it  is  to  get  a  rise  out  of  you,  Cath."  She  gave  a  laugh. 
"When  shall  I  see  you  again?" 

"Soon,"  Cathy  called  back  to  her,  and  Lorrimer  hurried 
forward  to  let  her  out  through  the  demure  little  door  which 
led  into  Monica's  narrow  hall. 

He  stood  for  some  time  on  the  steps  watching  her,  and 
at  last  he  turned  inwards,  and  found  that  Monica  had  not 
moved  from  where  she  had  been  standing. 

They  sat  down  again,  and  now  the  party  was  as  it  should 
have  been  from  the  first ;  as  it  was  when  Monica  had  planned 
it,  and  before  Cathy  walked  into  the  picture.  Cathy  had 
gone,  but,  in  going,  she  had  taken  some  at  least  of  Jack 
Lorrimer's  thoughts  with  her.  Monica  could  see  this  very 
clearly.  She  gave  him  another  cup  of  tea,  and  waited  until 
he  came  back  to  the  starting-point.  Cathy  had  done  what 
she  invariably  did,  set  the  man  thinking  about  her;  for  she 
had  a  way  of  stealing  into  people's  hearts  and  surprising 
them  into  unexpected  moods  of  romance. 

"She  is  a  dear,  isn't  she?"  Monica  remarked,  cutting  a 
slice  of  cake.  "I  always  told  you  that  there  is  no  one  like 
Cathy.  Full  of  enthusiasm,  and  fearfully  inconsistent,  but 
a  darling." 

"Does  it  matter  whether  she  is  consistent  or  not?"  he 
asked.  "She's  just  herself." 

"No  one  would  wish  her  altered,"  Monica  said  emphati- 
cally, "only,  like  the  rest  of  us,  she  is  patchy,  and  some- 
times disappointing." 

Lorrimer  put  down  his  cup  and  looked  at  Monica.  He 
had  come  there  with  the  idea  of  asking  her  when  she  would 
marry  him.  He  was  forty-four,  and  it  was  time  to  settle 


37 

down;  he  was  not  exactly  an  ambitious  man,  but  he  was 
beginning  to  feel  that  he  was  rich,  and  that  he  could  be- 
come powerful  in  a  small  way.  Buy  a  place  in  the  country, 
keep  hunters  and  become  a  J.P. ;  his  ambitions  were  not 
tremendous.  He  looked  again  at  Monica.  Set  beside 
Cathy,  she  was  like  a  well  contrived  lamp  compared  to  a 
star,  and  just  then  he  was  overcome  by  Cathy's  clear  shin- 
ing. 

"Cathy  is  wastefully  abundant,"  Monica  went  on,  smil- 
ing at  Lorrimer.  "You  must  be  on  guard  against  her  lavish- 
ness." 

"Do  you  mean  that  she  is  insincere?"  he  asked,  a  little 
stiffly. 

"No  more  than  sunrise  or  sunset  can  be  insincere,"  she 
replied  quickly ;  "but  they  can't  go  on  all  day.  Cathy  is  by 
way  of  being  crazy  about  social  reform  and  public  welfare. 
Don't  take  her  seriously,  Jack,  she  is  just  a  beautiful  joke." 

Lorrimer  appeared  to  be  applying  the  term  to  his  recol- 
lection of  Cathy  Rossiter,  and  whether  he  agreed  or  not  he 
did  not  say.  He  wasn't  at  all  sure  that  he  understood 
women,  but  he  knew  that  he  thought  Cathy  very  wonderful, 
and  that  he  was  not  in  any  special  hurry  to  unburden  his 
heart  to  Monica.  He  was  taking  a  flat  in  St.  James's  Court, 
and  he  wanted  assistance  about  his  wall  papers.  Monica's 
room  was  different  to  his  mother's  drawing-room,  which,  of 
course,  he  expected  it  to  be.  Monica  was  modern,  and 
Lorrimer  knew  that  he  had  not  moved  with  the  times.  A 
man  needed  pulling  together  when  he  had  been  absent  so 
long  from  England,  and  he  felt  out  of  it.  She  became  im- 
mediately interested  in  his  flat,  and  was  unhesitating  in  her 
choice  of  colours  for  his  rooms;  she  knew  the  people  he 
should  apply  to  for  specially  good  electric  light  fittings,  and 
she  was  helpful. 

Gradually  the  sense  of  Cathy's  presence  receded,  and 
Lorrimer  became  more  easy  and  less  reserved;  he  could 
even  talk  of  Cathy  again,  and  he  asked  Monica  what  they 
were  "squabbling  about"  before  he  had  come  in. 

It  was  the  case  of  the  governess,  Miss  Batten,  Monica 
explained,  turning  on  the  lamp  at  her  elbow,  the  light  fall- 


38  CATHY  ROSSITER 

ing  on  her  clever  face.  The  people  of  Cathy's  world  in- 
spired her  with  a  sense  of  their  utter  futility,  and  they  were 
up  in  arms  over  the  moral  guilt  of  Miss  Batten,  while  they 
neglected  the  cleansing  of  their  own  Augean  stables.  Cathy 
believed  she  was  doing  her  best,  Lady  Carstairs  was  also 
anxious  to  do  her  best,  but  the  monstrous  liberty  allowed 
to  those  of  their  own  house  would  continue  unbroken.. 

Lorrimer  listened  judicially,  and  leaned  his  elbows  on  the 
arms  of  his  chair,  supporting  his  full  chin  on  his  folded 
hands.  He  was  amused,  and  only  that  Monica  appeared  to 
be  in  rather  deadly  earnest,  he  would  have  laughed. 

"It  sounds  a  bit  promiscuous,"  he  said  at  last.  "Are  you 
sure  this  was  the  lady's  first  faux  pas?" 

The  subject  interested  him,  and  he  found  a  touch  of 
the  unusual  in  sitting  there,  discussing  it  with  Monica;  but 
nowadays  you  might  talk  of  anything. 

"My  dear  Jack,  women  are  human  animals,"  Monica  said 
scornfully ;  "get  that  into  your  head,  and  make  no  mistakes. 
Nature  cares  nothing  whatever  for  civilisation,  or  for  mar- 
riage laws ;  it's  a  bit  older  than  either." 

"Still,"  Lorrimer  laughed  inwardly,  though  he  kept  the 
smile  from  his  mouth,  "it's  rather  a  daring  affair  for  a 
governess.  What  does  Miss  Rossiter  think?" 

"Cathy  wants  to  help  her — or  wants  me  to  help  her — and 
she  will  be  sweet  and  kind,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  She  has 
got  the  traditional  attitude,  covered  by  sentiment." 

"She  spoke  very  kindly."  Lorrimer  took  out  his  case, 
and  asked  Monica  if  he  might  smoke  a  cigar.  "I  am  sure 
she  will  be  kind." 

"When  is  she  anything  else?"  Monica  said,  almost  ir- 
ritably. "Cathy  lacks  what  I  call  courage;  she  can't  be 
anything  but  kind.  Take  the  case  of  Hector  Foulkes — or 
even  the  case  of  Lord  Twyford,  her  own  cousin,  the  man," 
she  added  with  slight  emphasis,  "whom  she  will  certainly 
end  by  marrying.  Cathy  never  asserted  herself.  She  told 
me  that  she  was  sorry  for  Twyford,  because  he  was  very 
wretched  for  a  long  time.  He  isn't  wretched  now." 

"One  has  to  keep  up  the  standard,"  Lorrimer  said,  from 
behind  a  cloud  of  blue  smoke.  "Be  reasonable,  Monica.  A 


CATHY  ROSSITER  39 

goverriess  has  to  be  like  Caesar's  wife,  and  if  she  isn't, 

well "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  quite  amiably.  "As 

it  is,  people  know  what  they  are  going  to  get,  if  they  play 
the  fool." 

"And  what  have  you  to  say  about  men?"  she  retorted. 
"Jack,  it's  no  use  pretending  things  with  me;  remember 
that  I  am  in  a  position  to  know  facts.  Let  the  case  be  an 
equal  one." 

"Oh,  men."  Lorrimer's  eyes  were  reflective.  "It's  not 
the  same.  I'm  not  speaking  of  myself,"  his  eyelids  flickered 
and  he  looked  down  at  his  hands,  "perhaps  I  am  a  bit  fas- 
tidious; but  I  know  scores  and  scores  of  good  fellows  who 
aren't,  and  they're  none  the  worse  for  it.  Don't  take  it  so 
seriously." 

He  suddenly  felt  outraged  by  Monica.  What  earthly 
right  had  she  to  talk  as  she  did,  and  fling,  as  she  was  now 
doing,  a  string  of  statistics  at  his  head,  with  regard  to 
houses  of  ill-fame  in  Eastern  ports.  A  veil  should  be 
drawn  between  such  knowledge  and  the  minds  of  decent 
women,  and  for  any  woman  to  attack  a  man  upon  such  a 
subject  was  peculiarly  unpleasing. 

"Why !"  Monica  stopped  tiptoe,  as  it  were,  on  a  staccato 
note,  "I  believe  I  have  succeeded  in  shocking  you,  Jack." 

She  had,  but  he  was  not  shocked  by  what  she  had  told 
him,  he  knew  all  about  that  already;  he  was  shocked  to 
think  that  she  should  be  cognisant  of  these  things. 

"I  am  rather  old-fashioned,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  eye- 
brows and  ruffling  them,  for  they  were  thick  and  rather 
'coarsely  marked.  "I  don't  like  the  idea  of  your  knowing 
all  these  facts.  Why  should  you?  Any  decent  man  keeps 
them  out  of  sight  of  his  women  folk." 

"Yes,  you  are  old-fashioned,"  she  agreed.  "If  Miss 
Batten  had  been  educated  a  little  about  her  own  physiology, 
the  disaster  wouldn't  have  occurred." 

She  had  forgotten  that  she  intended  to  marry  him,  for 
the  moment,  for  Monica  was  very  much  two  people  in 
one  person,  and  the  propagandist  was  up  and  out  in 
her.  In  her  oddly  cold  heat,  she  got  up  from  behind 
the  table  and  stood  by  the  fire,  the  hem  of  her  neat 


40  CATHY  ROSSITER 

skirt  touching  his  well  polished  brown  shoes.  She  real- 
ised that  Jack  was  excessively  masculine,  and  was  war- 
ring against  her,  even  though  he  still  smiled  quite  pleas- 
antly. He  breathed  a  little  hard,  and  then  he  leaned  for- 
ward and  touched  her  wrist;  only  just  touched  it,  as 
though  to  attract  her  attention,  and  the  contact  went 
through  Monica  like  a  stab  of  electric  fire.  She  forgot  what 
she  had  been  going  to  say,  and  her  eyes  met  his ;  it  seemed 
as  though  she  must  slide  into  his  arms,  and  that  all  their 
talk  would  fall  into  an  ecstatic  silence,  but,  even  as  she 
felt  the  rush  of  her  suddenly  surprised  feeling  overcome 
her,  she  realised  that  Lorrimer  was  rising  to  leave,  and 
that  he  was  totally  unaware  of  any  special  emotion.  He 
stood  up,  and  pulled  down  his  waistcoat,  regarding  the 
two  clear  creases  in  his  trousers,  and  then  he  held  out 
his  hand,  his  elbows  sticking  out  slightly,  for  he  was  shy 
at  the  moment.  He  was  always  self-conscious,  both  when 
he  arrived  in  a  room  and  when  he  got  up  to  leave  it, 
and  his  constraint  was  quite  obvious. 

"Then  we'll  go  over  the  subject  of  the  wall  papers 
later,"  he  said,  and  he  looked  down  at  her  raised  face. 
His  hand  felt  a  little  hot,  and  he  looked  down  at  her 
and  bit  his  lip ;  he  was  wondering  if  he  would  ask  her  then, 
and  get  it  over.  But  she  must  give  up  all  that  bow-wow 
about  sex  questions,  she  really  must,  no  county  society 
would  put  up  with  it. 

He  was  still  holding  Monica's  hand,  and,  though  she 
spoke  of  wall  papers,  her  eyes  were  eager — terribly  eager. 

"Red  for  the  dining-room,"  she  said  mechanically,  "and 
white  for  the  drawing-room.  For  the  hall  I  should  have 
buff " 

"I've  brought  back  a  lot  of  rubbish  from  the  East,"  he 
said,  and  he  drew  her  a  little  closer  to  him.  "Nothing  of 
any  value,  but  gay  things,  phulkharis,  and  a  heap  of  gold  em- 
broidery, as  well  as  brass  trays." 

Monica's  slender  fingers  were  lying  over  his  wrist,  and, 
with  a  true  sense  of  her  profession,  she  became  aware 
that  Lorrimer's  pulse  was  beating  very  rapidly.  For  one 
moment  she  tasted  the  joy  of  conquest  and  realisation,  for 


CATHY  ROSSITER  41 

she  knew  what  he  was  going  to  say  to  her,  and  then 
the  bell  on  her  table  rang  fiercely  and  they  started  apart, 
Lorrimer  had  said  nothing,  and  the  interruption  was  mad- 
dening to  Monica. 

She  walked  to  the  table,  hiding  her  irritation,  and  spoke 
sharply  down  the  receiver. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  asked.  "Dr.  Monica  Henstock  speak- 
ing. Oh,  you,  Cathy.  What  in  the  world  do  you  want?" 

Try  as  she  would,  she  could  not  keep  her  anger  out  of 
her  voice.  Monica  was  not  a  successful  woman  in  the 
affairs  of  love,  and  such  as  she  are  at  the  mercy  of  small 
incidents.  A  moment  before,  Lorrimer  had  been  on  the 
very  edge  of  the  spoken  word,  but  Monica  knew,  only 
too  well,  that  the  intervention  of  this  ridiculous  call  might 
mean  postponement,  and  postponement  mean  that  Lorrimer 
would  never  speak.  She  was  the  victim  of  unfulfilment, 
and  this  was  not  the  first  time. 

As  she  listened  to  the  reply,  her  face  changed,  and 
her  eyes  grew  startled.  She  gave  a  few  clear  directions, 
and,  hanging  up  the  receiver,  turned  to  Lorrimer.  She 
was  Dr.  Monica  Henstock  to  him  now,  and  the  other 
Monica  had  vanished. 

"That  girl  we  spoke  of  has  been  trying  to  kill  herself," 
she  said.  "I  must  go  at  once,  Jack.  Luckily  Cathy  got 
to  her  in  tinaefbut  it's  serious." 

"By  God,"  Lorrimer  said,  hiis  face  serious  and  dis- 
mayed, "what  a  dreadful  thing.  I  hope  Miss  Rossiter  isn't 
fearfully  upset." 

"I'm  more  interested  in  Batkins,"  Monica  said,  taking 
up  her  hat. 

"I'll  see  you  as  far  as  Cavendish  Square.  I've  got  a 
car,  by  the  way,  now  that  I'm  a  plutocrat,  and  I  told  the 
fellow  to  call  here  at  six  o'clock.  He'll  rattle  us  round 
in  less  than  no  time." 

Lorrimer  was  very  anxious  to  see  Monica  as  far  as  her 
destination,  and  she  sat  beside  him  and  felt  more  secure 
again.  One  had  only  to  look  at  Lorrimer  to  be  assured. 
He  was  like  a  mountain,  the  kind  of  mountain  which 
would  not  be  removed  by  any  amount  of  prayer,  neither 


42  CATHY  ROSSITER 

would  he  travel  to  see  Mahommed;  the  mountain,  in  fact, 
that  remains  just  where  you  always  expect  it  to  be,  which 
is  the  duty  of  all  good  mountains. 

In  the  comfort  of  the  padded  car,  Monica's  nerves  began 
to  tingle  again,  and  she  gripped  her  neat  bag,  and  pressed 
her  fingers  against  the  lock  until  it  hurt  her.  Lorrimer 
had  been  very  nearly  in  love  with  her  a  few  seconds  back, 
but  he  didn't  feel  at  all  so  sure  about  it  now.  He  did 
not  like  the  idea  of  a  wife  who  went  off  suddenly,  with  a 
bag  in  her  hands,  upon  some  indescribable  errand.  It 
was  very  admirable  and  good  and  fine,  and  he  admired 
her.  She  allured  him  by  her  vestal  clarity  of  profile,  and 
her  terrible  knowledge  of  the  byways  of  life,  but,  if  he 
married  her,  she  would  have  to  relinquish  her  practice. 
He  pulled  on  a  chamois  glove  and  studied  the  seams. 

"I  hope  Miss  Rossiter  hasn't  got  the  wind  up  badly,"  he 
said.  "Give  her  my  salaams,  Monica." 

"If  I  remember,"  Monica  said  absently. 

She  was  beginning  to  worry  about  her  case.  From  what 
Cathy  said  she  would  have  to  strip  and  fight  for  the  un- 
necessary life  of  poor  Batkins;  the  "mistake"  was  already 
doomed  and  done  for. 

He  dropped  her  at  the  steps,  and  she  was  engulfed  by 
the  great  doors  which  opened  to  let  her  in,  and  Lorrimer 
stood  there  for  a  little  time  before  he  turned  away.  But 
there  was  no  sign  of  Cathy  anywhere,  and  the  only  per- 
son he  saw  was  a  tall,  dark  young  man,  rather  over- 
dressed, who  came  out  just  as  Monica  went  in,  and  looked 
at  Lorrimer  contemptuously,  as  though  he  hated  him  on 
sight.  His  look  ruffled  Lorrimer  considerably,  and  he 
wondered  if  this  was  Twyford,  the  man  Monica  had 
spoken  of  in  connection  with  Cathy.  He  felt  like  hurrying 
after  him  and  kicking  him,  but  he  restrained  himself,  and 
then  he  walked  down  the  steps  to  where  the  liveried  chauf- 
feur was  eyeing  him  with  a  look  of  compassionate  amuse- 
ment. He  seemed  to  feel  that  Colonel  Lorrimer  wasn't 
really  anything  or  anyone,  and  he  took  his  order  from 
him  without  enthusiasm,  when  told  to  drive  to  the  Army 
Club  of  which  Lorrimer  was  a  member.  Lorrimer  wished 


CATHY  ROSSITER  43 

that  he  had  known  a  duchess,  for  the  pleasure  of  directing 
his  chauffeur  to  her  house — or  even  a  celebrated  actress — 
but  he  felt,  quite  suddenly,  that  he  was  a  nobody,  and  that 
it  was  time  he  should  make  an  effort  to  assert  himself. 


CHAPTER  V 

COLONEL  LORRIMER  had  postponed  his  visit  to  Monica  Hen- 
stock  for  a  considerable  time.  He  was  living  at  the  Carl- 
ton,  and  the  flat  remained  tenantless,  awaiting  his  com- 
mands as  to  paper  and  paint. 

He  was  settling  down  a  little  and  felt  less  out  of  things ; 
also,  he  had  met  Cathy  Rossiter  accidentally  in  Bond  Street, 
and  she  had  invited  him  to  call  at  her  aunt's  house.  His 
further  impression  of  Cathy  was  even  more  vivid  than 
the  first,  and  she  seemed  to  him  like  some  royal  princess 
who  owned  wide  realms  where  everyone  bowed  before 
her.  She  had  sailed,  into  his  vision,  walking  with  her 
cousin,  Lord  Twyford,  and,  though  Lorrimer  was  not 
impressed  by  Twyford,  he  felt  that  he  had  gained  some- 
thing intangible  by  being  included  in  their  company  as 
they  walked  along  together. 

Cathy's  wonderful  untidiness  was  part  of  her  charm. 
She  was  quite  badly  dressed,  he  supposed,  but  it  did  not 
matter.  No  one  else  could  look  like  her.  During  the  walk 
they  had  met  one  of  the  best  known  members  of  the 
Cabinet,  who  had  teased  Cathy  about  a  hole  in  her  glove, 
and  spoken  to  Lorrimer,  supposing  him  to  be  someone  he 
had  met  before.  All  this  pleased  Lorrimer,  but  it  was 
very  little  compared  to  the  pleasure  he  had  in  realising  that 
Cathy  not  only  remembered  their  first  meeting,  but  was 
quite  obviously  glad  to  think  that  they  should  improve  their 
acquaintance.  He  wanted  to  buy  her  some  flowers,  but  he 
felt  that  Twyford,  who  endured  him  with  evident  dislike, 
would  have  been  affronted.  It  was  not  a  good  reason, 
but  it  prevented  Lorrimer  from  acting  on  impulse.  He 
was  afraid  of  Cathy,  in  some  subtle  way.  The  whole  meet- 
ing and  parting  had  only  been  a.  matter  of  a  few  minutes, 
for  Lorrimer  had  allowed  Lord  Twyford's  gloomy  silence 

44 


CATHY  ROSSITER  45 

to  rout  him.  But  the  memory  of  it  abode  in  his  heart, 
and  he  felt  that  a  marriage  with  Monica  would  be,  at 
best,  a  dull  affair. 

Still,  there  was  another  side  to  his  friendship  with 
Monica;  she  was  Cathy's  friend,  and  he  might  count  upon 
meeting  her  in  the  little  house.  He  told  himself  that 
Monica  was  a  sensible  girl,  and  that  she  was  one  of  the 
Amazons.  Certainly,  he  had  felt  a  conviction  that  she 
only  waited  for  the  words  to  be  said  to  throw  her  own 
theories  to  the  winds;  but,  then,  he  might  have  mistaken 
the  indications.  In  his  imagination  he  had  regarded  her 
as  a  possible  wife,  and  set  her,  like  a  lay  figure,  on  the 
throne  of  his  hearth,  and  now  he  took  her  down  again 
and  stuck  her  away  in  a  corner.  Cathy  was  utterly  out 
of  his  reach,  but  she  had  made  Monica  impossible  at 
present.  Once  Cathy  became  Lady  Twyford,  and  that 
particularly  ungracious  cousin  of  hers  had  actually  a  right 
to  call  her  his  own,  Monica  might  be  reinstated,  but  Lor- 
rimer  felt  that  he  was  falling  in  love,  and  that  he  must 
just  allow  things  to  take  their  course. 

With  mixed  feelings,  therefore,  he  set  out  one  blowy 
afternoon  to  call  upon  Monica,  and  found  her  at  home, 
nursing  a  cold.  She  was  looking  weary  and  tired  and 
far  too  old  for  her  age,  and  yet,  when  she  saw  him,  she 
brightened  up  at  once. 

Lorrimer  had  brought  her  flowers,  not  the  flowers  he 
would  have  offered  to  Cathy,  but  good  strong  blossoms, 
which  would  keep  fresh  for  a  week  if  their  stalks  were 
attended  to,  and  she  received  them  from  him  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  pleasure.  She  ordered  tea  at  once,  and  had 
a  great  deal  to  say.  Monica  was  very  seriously  annoyed 
about  what  she  called  "the  Batten  muddle."  Miss  Batten 
had  been  revived  and  brought  back  to  health  and  strength 
under  her  ministrations,  and  then,  as  usual,  the  Philistines 
had  conquered. 

Lady  Carstairs,  whom  Monica  described  as  "a  pious  im- 
becile," had  made  arrangements  for  the  ex-governess  to 
learn  weaving  under  the  tuition  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Beau- 
mont. She  was  given  just  enough  money  to  starve  on,  and 


46  CATHY  ROSSITER 

was  told  that  she  could  never  again  be  trusted  with  the 
charge  of  pupils.  The  wretched  girl  accepted  anything 
she  was  offered  with  a  pitiable  readiness,  and  had  promised 
to  learn  to  weave.  What  happened  at  the  school  where 
Miss  Batten  was  taught  her  work  Monica  did  not  know, 
but,  after  a  month,  the  girl  vanished,  and  there  was  no 
trace  of  her  anywhere. 

"Well,  I  suppose  it's  no  one's  fault,"  Lorrimer  said 
contentedly.  It  didn't  seem  to  matter  very  much.  The 
only  interest  he  felt  in  the  erring  Miss  Batten  was,  that 
she  had  once  been  living  in  Lady  Carstairs'  house.  "She'll 
probably  turn  up  later  on." 

Monica  flushed  suddenly,  and  stared  at  him. 

"Jack,  I  won't  believe  that  you  are  so  selfish,"  she  said 
emphatically;  "I  simply  won't." 

"But,  my  dear  girl,"  he  spoke  persuasively,  "what  can  7 
do?  I  can't  go  round  with  a  bell  and  look  for  the  miss- 
ing lady.  She  is  a  responsible  human  being,  and  if  she 
wants  to  disappear " 

"Don't  you  realise  that  she  was  persecuted?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  said  flatly  and  with  decision.  "She 
got  her  chance  and  hadn't  the  wit  to  keep  it.  I  should  call 
it  a  very  good  thing  if  she  chose  to  drown  herself." 

"You  are  very  unjust,"  she  said,  and,  to  his  surprise,  her 
voice  shook,  and  she  seemed  nearly  tearful.  "I  took  a 
special  interest  in  the  case,  and  these  people  messed  it  all 
up." 

After  that  the  rest  of  his  visit  had  been  unaccountably 
jerky  and  had  lacked  the  smoothness  of  the  earlier  hour. 
Monica  recovered  herself,  and  the  sense  of  awkwardness 
lessened,  but  very  soon  Lorrimer  got  up  and  said  "Good- 
bye." 

He  had  nothing  very  special  to  do  that  evening,  and  he 
was  a  man  with  few  friends.  A  cheerful,  agreeable  ac- 
quaintance he  remained,  and  friendships  of  the  deeper  order 
did  not  come  in  his  way.  Beneath  his  surface  heartiness  he 
was  lonely,  and  also  intensely  critical,  constantly  finding 
that  people  offended  and  slighted  him,  and  he  was  acutely 
sensitive.  Now  that  he  was  really  a  rich  man,  he  thought 


CATHY  ROSSITER  47 

things  ought  to  have  changed  for  him,  and,  so  far,  they 
had  not.  He  dined  alone  very  often,  unless  he  picked  up 
a  man  at  the  Club  and  stood  him  a  dinner,  but  he  had 
no  engagements.  When  he  left  Monica's  house  he  had 
no  objective,  and  he  walked  slowly  towards  Piccadilly. 

To  be  a  really  rich  man,  and  at  the  same  time  to  be  so 
absurdly  devoid  of  entertainment,  was,  as  Lorrimer  told 
himself,  "damned  stoopid."  Why  did  not  someone  appear 
and  bring  with  him  an  object  in  life?  He  thought  of  her 
again.  Monica  was  a  dear,  and  most  undeniably  clever 
and  attractive,  but  she  was  very  professional.  He  might 
have  asked  her  out  to  dine  with  him,  in  spite  of  her  cold, 
for  she  would  have  come  had  he  done  so,  and  he  wondered 
whether  it  was  worth  while  ringing  her  up. 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  Piccadilly  he  decided  against 
this.  London  was  utterly  wearisome  to  him,  and  he  won- 
dered why  he  had  ever  taken  the  still  unfurnished  flat. 
Again  he  thought  of  Cathy  and  the  Cabinet  Minister  who 
had  found  a  hole  in  her  glove.  Lorrimer  wished  that  he 
could  forget  her  for  a  little.  These  piercing  memories  of 
her  face,  seen  only  twice,  were  painful  to  him.  It  was 
useless  to  love  her;  he  might  as  well  love  a  star  in  the 
night  sky,  and  yet,  as  he  dressed  for  dinner,  he  kept  on 
thinking  of  her  and  wondering  when  he  could  go  and  call. 
If  he  called,  and  she  was  out,  it  would  be  like  paying  his 
last  shilling  for  a  chance  which  might  not  be  repeated,  and 
he  wondered  if  he  could  induce  Monica  to  get  her  to  come 
to  a  little  dinner  or  a  theatre.  Cathy  was  devoted  to 
Monica,  and  perhaps,  if  Monica  were  not  jealous,  it  could 
be  done.  He  tied  his  tie  badly,  and  sat  pulling  at  it.  One 
thing  he  would  not  do,  and  that  was,  make  a  cat's  paw 
of  Monica.  He  liked  the  girl  far  too  honestly  for  such  a 
cad's  game.  With  a  sigh  he  relinquished  the  project,  and 
he  looked  at  himself  in  the  long  mirror.  He  was  a  fine- 
looking  man,  with  a  good  effect  of  leadership,  unless  he 
became  nervous.  He  liked  to  give  lavishly,  now  that  he 
had  money  to  give,  and  the  only  trouble  was  that  his 
world  was  impossibly  and  ridiculously  small. 

When  he  got  down  to  the  hall  he  decided  that  he  would 


48  CATHY  ROSSITER 

dine  out,  and  that  it  would  be  interesting  to  push  his  way 
beyond  the  more  select  circle  of  restaurants  and  find  some- 
thing to  beguile  his  mind  with  in  the  Soho  region.  Some- 
times he  wished  that  he  knew  a  little  of  the  Continent, 
and  could  go  over  to  Paris,  certain  of  enjoyment;  but  his 
French,  what  there  was  of  it,  was  deplorably  bad.  Be- 
sides, he  disliked  foreigners. 

Taking  his  time,  since  there  was  no  need  to  hurry,  he 
wandered  vaguely  along  a  side  street,  where,  outside  one 
door,  there  hung  a  huge  lantern  with  the  name  "Voyons" 
inscribed  upon  it.  It  looked  rather  a  second-rate,  one- 
horse  show,  he  thought,  but  it  was  probably  as  good  as 
any  of  the  neighbouring  places,  and  he  decided  to  go  in. 
The  sound  of  music  attracted  him,  for  he  was  intensely 
fond  of  popular  airs.  He  could  disparage  the  people,  the 
food,  and  the  whole  place,  and  he  felt  it  might  do  him 
good.  Lorrimer  was  not  out  for  adventure  but  for  dis- 
traction, and  he  knew  well  how  to  deal  with  the  advances 
of  women  who  might  become  troublesome.  He  had  gained 
his  experience  of  the  type,  and  he  had  no  intention  of  let- 
ting himself  in  for  anything. 

The  "Voyons"  Restaurant  was  a  cheap  place,  and  a  few 
musicians  with  weary*  faces  were  fiddling  at  the  far  end. 
Solitary  men  and  women,  or  groups  of  both,  sat  at  the 
small  tables,  and  the  waiters  fled  about  with  fearful  zeal. 
The  air  was  thick  with  smoke,  and  Lorrimer  came  in  and 
looked  around  him  with  no  approval  in  his  face.  He  gave 
his  order  sternly  and  with  immediate  effect,  and  was 
abrupt  and  rude  to  the  man  who  waited  upon  him.  In  all 
the  collection  he  was  the  only  really  impressive  person 
there. 

At  the  next  table  to  him  a  man  with  a  yellow  face  and 
black  hair  was  reading  a  French  paper  and  drinking  cof- 
fee, and  opposite,  a  woman  with  bobbed  hair  and  a  long 
hose  was  evidently  waiting  to  pounce.  Let  her  wait;  Lor- 
rimer was  not  going  to  interest  himself  in  her. 

He  ordered  his  meal  with  his  touch  of  stiff  reserve,  and 
sat  drumming  his  fingers  on  the  cloth.  They  were  a  rag- 
bag collection,  these  neighbours  of  his,  and  he  scorned 


CATHY  ROSSITER  49 

them  all.  Yet  they  gave  him  relief  from  the  sense  of  be- 
ing out  of  it;  and  they  were  all  interested  in  him. 

Lorrimer  was  a  good  judge  of  wine,  and  the  wine  at  the 
"Voyons"  was  by  no  means  of  a  bad  quality.  He  was 
also,  in  a  surface  way,  a  judge  of  people.  Nearly  every- 
one in  the  restaurant  was  cheap,  struggling,  and  aiming  at 
the  joyous  life  of  the  rich,  and,  alone  of  them  all,  he 
really  belonged  to  the  solid  land  of  large  banking  accounts 
and  security.  After  a  time  he  became  aware  of  the  exis- 
tence of  a  small,  quiet-looking  girl,  of  anything  between 
twenty-five  and  thirty.  She  had  dabbed  a  wretched  patch 
of  rouge  on  her  cheeks,  and  wore  a  velvet  cap  which  did 
not  suit  her;  she  looked  as  much  cut  of  it  as  anyone  well 
could  be.  He  could  see  her  well  from  where  he  sat,  and 
considered  her  carefully.  She  had  large,  eager  eyes  and 
a  wavering  mouth,  and,  in  spite  of  her  flimsy  dress  and 
thin  stockings,  she  bore  the  stamp  of  respectability.  Every 
now  and  then  she  looked  around  her  and  smiled,  and  a 
very  tragic  smile  it  was,  Lorrimer  thought.  He  did  not 
like  to  study  her  too  intently,  in  case  she  might  get  up 
and  try  to  join  him  at  his  table,  but  she  looked  as  though 
she  wanted  a  meal,  and  she  was  drinking  coffee,  like  his 
neighbour,  and  making  no  pretence  to  eat.  Once  he  caught 
her  eye,  and  she  made  a  little  quavering  movement  as 
though  she  wished  him  to  show  some  further  sign,  but, 
withered  by  his  indifference,  she  relapsed  again  into  her 
nervous  habit  of  glancing  from  face  to  face. 

The  man  who  had  been  reading  the  French  journal  got 
up  and  went  out,  leaving  his  paper  behind  him,  and  Lor- 
rimer, who  had  arrived  at  dessert,  picked  it  from  the  floor 
and  began  to  study  it,  recognising  words  he  knew  here 
and  there.  He  wondered  if  it  would  entail  a  lot  of  bother 
if  he  were  to  offer  the  queer,  bird-like  little  creature  a 
liqueur.  If  she  could  be  got  rid  of  at  once,  he  rather 
favoured  the  idea.  In  any  case,  she  would  be  someone  to 
talk  to.  The  woman  with  the  bobbed  hair  and  the  long 
nose  was  detestable,  but  this  other  adventuress  was  quite  of 
a  different  type.  He  laid  down  the  paper  and  looked  across 


50  CATHY  ROSSITER 

at  her  again,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  drying  her  eyes  with 
a  crumpled  handkerchief. 

Lorrimer  hated  to  see  a  woman  cry.  It  was  one  of  his 
most  deeply  rooted  feelings,  and  he  was  immediately  sorry. 
He  had  once  been  poor  and  had  gone  through  bad  times, 
and  he  was  there  with  a  pocket  stuffed  to  bursting  with 
notes.  One  of  those  might  console  her.  She  was  to  him 
as  an  unhappy  crossing-sweeper,  and  he  decided  to  do  a 
magnanimous  act. 

Getting  up  slowly,  and  without  any  sign  of  his  purpose, 
he  crossed  the  floor,  and,  standing  at  the  little  table,  he 
touched  the  girl's  arm. 

"Come  over  to  my  table,"  he  said,  "and  have  a  liqueur! 
What  is  the  matter,  and  why  are  you  crying?" 

The  girl  started  violently,  and  gave  her  queer,  fright- 
ened smile,  but  she  made  no  answer,  she  only  obeyed  him 
very  humbly. 

Having  ordered  her  a  maraschino,  Lorrimer  began  to 
talk  to  her,  his  hands  folded  on  the  table  in  front  of 
him. 

"Now,  look  here,"  he  said,  "you  are  playing  the  fool.  I 
don't  know  who  you  are,  but  this  sort  of  thing  isn't  your 
trade." 

Her  tears  fell  unrestrainedly,  and  she  nodded  her  head, 
whether  accepting  or  denying  his  judgments  he  could  not 
tell. 

"If  you  have  any  people,  go  back  to  them,"  he  said, 
"and  don't  be  stoopid.  Try  anything  else  that  turns  up, 
but,  don't  you  see,  my  good  girl,  you're  simply  asking  for 
trouble." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  she  said  in  a  stifled  voice,  but 
the  voice  was  educated  and  pleasant. 

"If  you've  got  into  any  kind  of  hole,  and  I  can  help  you, 
I'll  do  it,"  he  went  on,  and  a  really  joyful  sense  of  his  own 
power  flowed  over  his  spirit.  There  was  something  worth 
while  in  this  adventure  of  his,  and  he  was  getting  great 
value  out  of  it. 

"Tell  me  something  about  yourself,"  he  went  on,  "and 


CATHY  ROSSITER  51 

I'll  help  you,  as  I  said.  You  can  trust  me;  I  am  always 
most  awfully  sorry  for  anyone  who  is  down." 

Very  slowly,  and  with  great  difficulty,  she  began  to  tell 
her  story,  but  her  mind  rambled  from  point  to  point  and 
it  all  took  a  long  time. 

"You  are  the  first  person  who  has  been  kind  to  me  since 
I  saw  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  said,  breaking  off  in  her  lament- 
able history,  and  Lorrimer  stared  at  her,  flushed,  gulped  a 
mouthful  of  coffee,  and  was  hard  put  to  it  not  to  express 
his  feelings.  It  was  like  a  miracle,  it  was  a  revelation,  it 
was  enough  to  make  an  atheist  believe  in  God.  Cathy  was 
in  a  state  of  great  trouble  of  mind  about  Miss  Batten,  as 
he  already  knew,  and  here,  by  the  mercy  of  Providence, 
he  had  found  her,  found  her  in  an  obscure  restaurant, 
and  had  done  the  right  thing.  The  rewards  of  virtue  were 
usually  remote  and  took  time  to  pay,  but  his  reward  had 
come  with  the  swiftness  of  a  flash.  All  the  evening  he 
had  been  thinking  of  Cathy,  and  wondering  how  he  might 
make  his  way  into  a  closer  proximity  to  her  life,  and  now 
the  means  had  been  provided.  . 

He  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  down,  betraying 
nothing  by  his  eyes.  Up  to  that  moment  he  had  thought 
that  a  couple  of  pound  notes  would  be  a  handsome  dona- 
tion, sufficient  to  clear  his  conscience  and  to  make  the 
shadowy  woman  happy,  but  now  he  immediately  began  to 
think  out  a  far-reaching  scheme.  He  hardly  listened  to 
Miss  Batten's  account  of  herself  as  a  would-be  weaver,  nor 
to  the  advice  she  received  from  a  fellow-worker  to  cut 
the  concern  and  make  her  living  by  a  night-hawk  existence, 
which  she  depicted  in  alluring  colours.  Lorrimer  was 
wondering  what  would  really  be  the  best  line  to  take.  His 
heart  was  hot  within  him  and  he  pondered  carefully. 

First  of  all,  Miss  Batten  must  be  returned  to  Cathy,  like 
a  lost  book  out  of  a  lending  library.  Her  career  as  a 
night-hawk  had  been  totally  unsuccessful,  and  she  was 
penniless.  She  must  be  taken  to  a  quiet  lodging,  and  he 
decided  that  his  own  share  in  the  story  must  come  to 
Cathy  through  the  agency  of  Miss  Batten.  She  was  edu- 
cated, and  possibly,  with  a  little  training,  could  undertake 


52  CATHY  ROSSITER 

a  secretaryship.  Anyhow,  he  would,  as  he  expressed  it, 
"put  up  the  bullion"  and  undertake  the  entire  responsi- 
bility for  her  training  and  keep.  His  having  done  the  right 
thing  exempted  him  from  all  suspicion  and  once  he  had 
preserved  Miss  Batten  from  further  falls  in  the  mire,  he 
would  only  be  called  upon  to  write  cheques. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Batten  watched  him  with  adoring  eyes. 
She  had  fallen  upon  evil,  evil  days  since  the  occasion  of 
the  dance,  and  here  was  a  total  stranger  who  really  came 
up  to  the  standard  which  she  had  read  of  in  books,  but 
never  encountered  in  the  crude  realities  of  life.  She  had 
been  laughed  at  cruelly  by  one  or  two  men  who  had  seemed 
inclined  to  take  her  at  her  own  valuation,  and  had  been 
robbed  of  ten  shillings  by  a  possible  client,  who  had  in- 
vited her  to  supper,  and  then  disappeared,  leaving  her  a 
shivering  mass  of  misery. 

The  whole  world  was  ugly,  cruel  and  heartless,  and  her 
heart  was  like  ice  when  she  sought  the  warmth  of  the 
"Voyons"  Restaurant  with  enough  money  to  pay  for  a 
cup  of  coffee.  As  Cathy  had  said,  she  never  really  changed, 
and  Miss  Batten  was  still  the  sensitive,  easily  crushable 
governess  she  had  always  been.  When  Lorrimer  came 
towards  her,  she  supposed  that  he  was  about  to  make  the 
wretched  suggestion  that  she  feared,  while  she  sought  it, 
and  his  first  few  words  did  nothing  to  reassure  her.  Only 
gradually  the  light  dawned  in  upon  her  trembling  soul,  and 
she  found  herself  pouring  forth  her  whole  heart  to  him 
as  he  listened,  with  his  eyes  on  his  plate. 

"You've  been  a  hopeless  little  idiot,"  he  said,  quite  kindly. 
"But  I  think  you  have  about  had  your  lesson.  It's  time 
you  turned  over  a  new  leaf." 

"But  how  can  I?" 

She  began  to  cry  afresh,  and  her  handkerchief  having 
become  reduced  to  a  state  of  sponge-like  limpness,  Lor- 
rimer solemnly  handed  her  his  own,  which  was  of  fine 
white  silk. 

"I  intend  to  see  you  through,"  he  remarked,  "only  you 
will  have  to  promise  me  that  you  won't  play  the  fool  any 
more." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  53 

Miss  Batten  was  ready  to  promise  anything  in  or  out  of 
reason.  She  would  have  gone  down  on  her  knees  and 
kissed  his  boots  if  he  would  only  have  permitted  it. 

With  a  terse  brevity  Lorrimer  outlined  his  plan.  He 
knew  of  rooms  in  Bayswater,  kept  by  a  respectable  woman. 
On  his  recommendation  she  would  be  taken  in  there. 

"Tell  her  that  your  late  landlady  got  drunk,  and  that 
the  place  was  impossible,"  he  said,  and  Miss  Batten  com- 
mitted the  suggestion  to  her  memory. 

"You  must  wash  your  face  before  we  leave  here  and 
try  to  look  a  little  less  dishevelled." 

He  got  up  as  he  spoke  and  took  down  his  coat,  and 
Miss  Batten  flickered  away  to  repair  the  ravages  of  her 
tears.  Lorrimer  sat  down  again  and  smiled.  He  had  never 
yet  felt  so  satisfied  with  himself,  and  he  tipped  the  waiter 
and  paid  his  bill  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  well  con- 
tent. 

As  they  drove  together  in  a  taxi  towards  Powis  Street, 
he  spoke  very  seriously  to  his  companion.  The  next  day, 
he  told  her,  she  must  communicate  with  Miss  Rossiter,  who 
had  been  very  anxious  indeed  about  her. 

"Do  you  know  Miss  Rossiter?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"Very  slightly,  but  I  know  Doctor  Henstock,  and  she, 
too,  is  worried." 

"Oh,  Doctor  Henstock,"  Miss  Batten's  eagerness  died 
away  a  little,  and  she  added  at  once,  "Of  course  she  is 
very  kind." 

"I  will  arrange  for  you  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Hack,"  Lor- 
rimer said  in  his  strong,  masterful  way,  "and,  later  on,  if 
there  is  anything  more  to  be  done,  you  can  count  upon 
me  to  do  it." 

There  was  a  long  and  almost  passionate  silence  upon 
the  part  of  Miss  Batten,  and  then  her  small  Toice  crept 
out  into  speech. 

"Why  are  you  so  kind  to  me?"  she  asked.  "It  is  wonder- 
ful." 

"I'm  always  sorry  for  the  under  dog,"  he  remarked. 
"Besides,"  he  struggled  to  be  honest,  "I  don't  do  things 
that  I  don't  want  to  do." 


54  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Motives  are  strange  things,  and  Miss  Batten,  had  she 
been  told  Lorrimer's  motive,  would  not  have  believed  it.  He 
had,  it  is  true,  taken  no  special  glory  to  himself,  and  had 
become  frosty  and  almost  affronted  by  her  enthusiasm 
in  the  taxi;  he  had  repeatedly  told  her  that  he  was  doing 
nothing  that  was  either  great  or  wonderful  and  had  asked 
her,  finally,  to  stop  speaking  of  it.  But  there  it  was. 
Perhaps  if  we  arrive  at  doing  as  much  for  another,  the 
motive  may  be  overlooked  in  the  higher  spheres. 

For  a  long  while  after  his  return  he  sat  in  a  deep  seat 
in  the  lounge  at  his  hotel,  and  his  eyes  were  on  the  future. 
Cathy  and  he  would  have  to  discuss  Miss  Batten's  fate,  and 
he  might  count  upon  a  number  of  meetings  on  the  head  of 
it ;  all  perfectly  natural  and  legitimate.  None  of  the  other 
men  she  knew  would  have  the  same  claim  to  her  ap- 
proval. Would  Lord  Twyford  have  acted  as  Knight  Er- 
rant? Not  he,  if  Lorrimer  was  any  judge  of  physiognomy. 
Twyford  was  hard  and  self-centred,  and  he  specialised  in 
a  bad  manner.  Lorrimer  called  him  a  "Blighter,"  and 
passed  on  to  the  memory  of  the  dark,  fashionable  young 
man  whom  he  had  once  seen  coming  down  the  steps  of 
Lady  Carstairs'  house.  He  suspected  that  here  was  an- 
other foe.  You  had  only  to  look  at  that  fellow  to  know 
that  he  was  a  rotter,  and  he  hated  him  on  sight.  The 
man's  look  had  been  offensive,  and  his  air  of  assurance, 
a  challenge.  If  he  had  met  a  rouged-up  governess,  his 
attitude  towards  her  would  be  a  foregone  conclusion. 

At  last  Lorrimer  went  to  bed,  and  he  slept  the  deep 
sleep  of  a  man  whose  conscience  is  quiet,  and  whose  life 
is  an  open  tribute  to  the  beauty  of  doing  the  right  thing. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  social  world  to  which  Robert  and  Lilian  Amyas  be- 
longed was  ringing  with  the  divorce  case,  and  Lilian  was 
receiving  the  criticism  which  follows  upon  publicity.  She 
was  condemned  or  excused  according  to  the  minds  of 
those  who  talked  about  it,  but  Robert  was  an  object  of 
universal  pity. 

He  had  been  very  angry  with  Lilian,  and  now  the  world 
was  crying  out  against  her,  and  he  wished  that  the  world 
would  cease  to  cry.  Robert  had  demanded  revenge,  but 
discovered  it  to  be  a  two-edged  sword,  and  there  was 
something  in  his  half-cynical,  half-dreamer's  nature  which 
made  revenge  appear  oddly  cruel.  His  sense  of  anger 
against  his  wife  died  quite  suddenly,  and  he  could  only 
wonder  at  his  lost  enthusiasms  of  rage. 

He  was  dining  at  Lady  Carstairs'  house  a  week  after  the 
reappearance  of  Miss  Batten,  and  the  drawing-room  was 
crowded  with  guests.  Cathy  was  wearing  a  shimmering 
green  dress,  trimmed  with  gold  and  fur,  and  she  looked 
wonderfully  lovely.  She  was  happy,  and  her  gaiety  was 
infectious;  even  Twyford  seemed  to  be  lighted  by  her 
radiance,  and  Robert  noticed  a  new  figure  in  the  gath- 
ering. He  thought  he  had  seen  the  man  before,  but  could 
not  recollect  where,  and  he  disliked  him  quite  definitely. 
The  new-comer  was  Colonel  Lorrimer,  and  Cathy  ap- 
peared to  regard  him  with  a  kind  of  special  interest. 

There  were  many  large  mirrors  in  Lady  Carstairs'  draw- 
ing-room, and  Lorrimer  was  reflected  in  them  all  at  once, 
so  Amyas  thought;  as  if  there  was  not  more  than  enough 
of  him  there  already.  Cathy  could  be  really  very  irritating 
at  times  with  her  enthusiasms,  and  she  showed  a  lack  of 
selective  power.  From  the  corner  where  he  sat,  looking 
intensely  bored,  he  regarded  Lorrimer  with  careful  scrutiny. 

55 


56  CATHY  ROSSITER 

The  man  was  a  materialist,  with  signs  of  it  everywhere,  and 
yet  he  was  imposing  himself  upon  Cathy.  Robert  decided 
that  Lorrimer  had  no  special  personality,  but  he  was  in- 
tensely solid,  and  women  seemed  now  and  then  to  evince 
a  passion  for  solidity.  Cathy,  he  thought,  was  making  far 
too  much  of  him.  The  idiot  was  in  love  with  her,  and 
surely  she  was  above  the  smallness  of  wishing  for  con- 
quest. He  decided  to  tackle  her  about  it  when  oppor- 
tunity arose,  and  he  made  his  way  to  Lady  Carstairs,  who 
treated  him,  on  account  of  the  divorce  case,  as  though 
he  were  ill  and  should  be  humoured.  When  dinner  was 
announced,  he  found  that  his  place  at  the  long  table  was 
next  to  Cathy,  who  had  been  taken  in  by  Colonel  Lor- 
rimer. Amyas  was  without  any  lady,  as  his  invitation 
had  been  an  after-thought,  given  that  morning  when  he 
met  Lady  Carstairs  while  she  was  shopping,  and  he  had 
accepted  it  rather  abstractedly. 

"When  are  you  going  to  talk  to  me  ?"  he  asked  her,  in  a 
piqued  voice,  for  Cathy  had  been  absorbed  by  Lorrimer. 

"Oh,  Robert,  I  was  talking  to  you,"  she  said,  "or  at  least 
at  you;  you  could  have  listened  to  what  I  said." 

Amyas  raised  his  eyebrows  and  made  no  other  reply.  He 
felt  unaccountably  vexed  by  her,  and,  after  all,  he  was 
an  old  friend.  Cathy  was  faithful,  but  she  had  too  many 
new  friends,  they  jostled  the  others,  and  no  one  likes  to  be 
jostled. 

"You  are  taking  yourself  seriously,"  he  said,  because 
he  wanted  her  not  to  return  to  Lorrimer,  who  had,  as  far 
as  he  could  gather,  been  telling  her  that  he  wished  to  go 
and  live  in  the  country.  Why  didn't  he,  then?  He  would 
be  better  there  than  here. 

"Why  should  Miss  Rossiter  not  do  so?"  Lorrimer  asked, 
and  Robert  regarded  him  with  a  smile. 

"Because  it  spoils  her,"  he  said  in  his  delicate,  critical 
way.  "Once  people  begin  to  take  themselves  seriously  they 
do  no  good  in  the  world." 

Lorrimer  said  nothing,  but  this  profile  suggested  that  he 
felt  it  to  be  just  the  idiotic  answer  he  would  have  ex- 
pected from  Amyas. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  57 

"Also,"  Robert  continued,  "it  makes  them  impersonal. 
A  huge  mistake.  Further,  it  leads  them  into  the  public 
Press,  if  not  the  Law  Courts,  because  that  is  the  short  cut 
to  notoriety." 

He  addressed  Lorrimer  deliberately.  "You,  I  take  it, 
are  a  perfect  monster  of  common  sense?" 

Lorrimer  flushed;  he  was  extremely  angry,  but  he  only 
laughed. 

"I  expect  so,"  he  replied. 

"And  you  are  absolutely  wrong,"  Cathy  turned  her 
laughing  eyes  to  Amyas.  "Of  all  the  wildest  philanthropists 
alive  Colonel  Lorrimer  is  the  greatest.  If  I  were  to  tell 

you "  she  turned,  and  laid  a  finger  on  Lorrimer'si 

arm.  "No,  I  won't  give  you  away,  but  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  just  one  little  bit  of  his  secret  mystery,  Robert,  you 
would  be  literally  crushed  to  the  earth  with  remorse." 

"Then  he  will  end  badly,"  Amyas  said  more  pleasantly. 
"The  only  way  in  which  one  can  hope  to  deal  with  life  is 
through  a  process  of  complete  egotism.  Forgive  me,  Colonel 
Lorrimer,  if  I  misjudged  you." 

"We  want  to  make  a  new  world,"  Cathy  continued,  "one 
in  which  there  is  no  pomp  and  circumstance." 

Amyas  looked  along  the  table,  and  watched  Lady  Car- 
stairs,  who  was  talking  to  a  Bishop. 

"A  two-hours  day  world,"  he  said,  laughing  at  her. 
"Shall  we  ask  the  Bishop  if  he  really  believes  that  riches 
are  the  root  of  all  evil?" 

Cathy  turned  again  to  Lorrimer. 

"Robert  might  listen  to  you.  He's  tired  of  all  my  argu- 
ments." 

"When  I  was  out  to-day,"  she  went  on,  "I  saw  a  crowd 
of  people  all  pushing  and  struggling  for  a  place,  just  to 
watch  a  Royal  carriage  go  by.  They  all  fought  and  strug- 
gled to  watch  some  very  ordinary  people  who  are  no  dif- 
ferent to  anyone  else.  Why  can't  they  see,"  she  went  on 
emphatically,  "that  there  is  no  real  glory  in  these  things? 
The  same  people  crowd  in  the  same  way  to  look  at  a  popu- 
lar criminal,  only  more  of  them  go  in  that  case.  I  hate  a 


58  CATHY  ROSSITER 

\ 

servile  world,  and  it  could  not  be  if  only  people  would  think 
for  themselves." 

"And  of  course  you  agree  with  Miss  Rossiter?"  Amyas 
suggested,  with  a  hidden  touch  of  malice,  as  he  spoke  to 
Lorrimer.  "I  warn  you  that  she  will  ask  you  to  remove 
all  the  really  exciting  events  from  the  day." 

"I  agree  entirely  with  Miss  Rossiter,"  Lorrimer  said 
defiantly.  If  this  ass  thought  that  he  was  a  snob  he  was 
goirig  to  show  him  that  he  was  mistaken.  He  felt  his  own 
origin  stir  in  his  blood,  and  he  turned  to  Cathy  with  sud- 
den gentleness. 

She  did  not  care  a  rap  for  social  distinction,  and  he  had 
been  afraid  that  she  might  consider  m'm  in  some  way  be- 
neatlj  her.  A  sense  of  assurance  came  to  him. 

"I  am  a  nobody,"  he  said,  and  again  he  met  her  raised 
eyes,  "so  I  speak  as  an  outsider.  I  began  life  with  noth- 
ing, and  all  I  have  I  owe  to  a  working  man." 

"You  start  with  an  advantage,"  Amyas  said  drily.  "Miss 
Rossiter  makes  a  cock-shy  of  the  Peerage  in  general,  and 
crowned  heads  in  particular.  She  is  merely  amusing  her- 
self by  abusing  her  own  relations,  a  fault  which  is  quite 
human.  Yet,  if  she  was  prepared  to  leave  you  a  few 
illusions,  you  might  not  be  any  the  worse  off  because  you 
believed  a  class,  to  which  you  don't  belong,  to  be  better  than 
it  is." 

He  had  not  meant  to  say  what  he  had,  and  he  met  Cathy's 
look  of  reproach,  as  she  got  up  to  follow  the  line  of  white 
shoulders  and  beautiful  dresses  out  of  the  large  room.  He 
had  annoyed  and  hurt  her,  and,  worse  still,  he  had  played 
into  Lorrimer's  hand.  Lorrimer  had  scored,  and  was  look- 
ing as  though  he  knew  it.  He  was  even  quite  dignified,  for, 
though  he  knew  none  of  the  other  men  present,  and  was 
in  a  slightly  awkward  situation,  he  sat  there  repose  fully  and 
appeared  not  to  mind.  But  Lorrimer  had  done  it  too 
dexterously.  He  loomed  there  as  a  positive  danger,  and, 
with  Cathy's  awful  capacity  for  impulse,  who  could  foretell 
what  would  be  the  next  stage  of  the  affair?  Amyas  de- 
cided that  he  would  not  talk  to  Lorrimer,  but  that  he  would 
watch  him  carefully. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  59 

At  the  end  of  the  table,  Stockton,  an  elderly  Member  of 
Parliament,  was  talking  shop  to  Twyford,  and  Twyford 
was,  as  usual,  quite  uninterested.  Stockton  was  a  big  man, 
in  his  way,  and  powerful;  he  owned  three  newspapers  and 
moulded  the  political  views  of  thousands  of  men  and 
women  he  had  never  seen.  Twyford,  with  his  stubborn 
lack  of  imagination,  was  not  concerned  with  the  unknown 
masses,  and  Stockton  was  obviously  nettled  by  the  lack 
of  enthusiasm  he  evinced.  Stockton  had  new  schemes  for 
every  week  in  the  year,  and  he  knew  the  value  of  ardour; 
his  large  face  wore  an  expression  of  disgust,  and  he  turned 
from  Twyford.  The  proprietor  of  three  newspapers  felt 
that  it  was  time  that  the  Twyfords  of  this  world  were 
swept  away.  In  his  momentary  anger  his  eye  fell  upon 
Lorrimer,  who  sat  there  like  a  large  island  in  an  empty 
sea,  and  something  in  his  attitude  struck  Stockton  at  once. 
He  looked  as  though  he  might  be  thinking,  and  might  quite 
possibly  be  thinking  sensibly.  Lorrimer  had  the  cut  of  a 
sensible  man  and  it  appealed  directly  to  Stockton,  who 
moved  in  his  chair  and  spoke  to  him. 

Again  Amyas  watched  Lorrimer,  and  tried  to  think  that 
he  gave  him  an  unprejudiced  attention.  There  might  be 
more  in  him  than  he  fancied — more,  in  fact,  than  mere 
bulk,  but  bulk  was  often  an  asset. 

Lorrimer  by  no  means  jumped  at  the  remark  thrown 
towards  him.  He  appeared  to  permit  it  to  come  well 
within  range  before  he  responded,  and  then  he  replied  with 
a  platitude. 

Stockton  was  interested.  He  had  drawn  Lord  Twyford 
a  dead  blank  and  he  had  no  further  use  for  him,  and  now 
he  was  fully  prepared  to  turn  his  attention  to  Lorrimer. 

Robert  turned  to  talk  to  the  man  on  his  right,  and 
decided  that  there  was  a  fatality  in  events  which  could  not 
be  avoided.  His  head  was  aching;  he  wanted  to  take  some 
of  the  white  tablets  in  his  small  bottle. 

Meanwhile  there  was  Cathy,  who  might  have  been  kinder 
to  him.  He  felt  that  he  needed  a  great  deal  from  Cathy, 
and  she  was  occupied  with  Lorrimer.  Cathy  was  always 
occupied  with  someone,  and  it  made  her  difficult  to  get  at. 


60  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Before  they  left  the  table,  Robert  heard  Stockton  giving1 
an  invitation  to  Lorrimer  to  dine  with  him  at  the  House, 
and  it  was  obvious  that  he  intended  to  improve  their  ac- 
quaintance. 

When  they  went  into  the  drawing-room,  Amyas  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  corner  Cathy,  but  so  had  Twyford, 
and  so,  also  had  Lorrimer,  and  she  sat  smiling  up  at  them 
all. 

"Which  of  you  am  I  to  talk  to  ?"  she  asked.  "I  think  it 
must  be  you,  Robert,  you  look  aspirinish  and  cross." 

Lorrimer.  retired  at  once ;  he  seemed  quite  assured  and 
not  in  the  least  disturbed  by  her  decision,  and  Twyford 
stood  to  argue  the  point. 

"I  hardly  ever  see  you,"  he  said,  "it  is  ridiculous,  Cathy. 
I  had  that  wretched  woman,  Lady  Duntlair,  giggling  at  me 
all  through  dinner.  She  looked  as  if  she  had  drunk  too 
much." 

"Well,"  Cathy  retorted,  "if  you  were  a  nobody  you 
might  have  escaped  her.  It  pleases  me  when  you  have  to 
suffer  for  your  advantages.  Go  away  and  grumble  to 
someone  else.  I'm  riding  with  you  to-morrow  morning, 
and  then  you  can  be  as  grumpy  as  you  please." 

"To-morrow  I  mayn't  want  to  be  grumpy,"  he  said,  star- 
ing at  her. 

"You  must  renounce  Cathy  and  all  her  works,  for  the 
present,"  Amyas  interposed.  "I  want  to  find  out  some- 
thing which  she  only  can  tell  me." 

Twyford  took  no  notice  of  Robert.  He  had  always  liked 
Lilian;  now  he  felt  himself  to  be  in  arms  for  her  sake. 
He  was  intensely  direct  in  his  theories,  and  was  scrupulous 
where  friendships  were  concerned.  As  for  Lorrimer,  he 
hardly  thought  of  him  at  all ;  Amyas  was  more  clearly  in 
the  light ;  Amyas  who  had  muddled  the  Lilian  business,  and 
who  was  now  free  to  attempt  to  entrap  Cathy  through  her 
ridiculous  sympathy.  To  Twyford,  the  fact  appeared  clear, 
and  he  went  away  to  lean  against  the  wall  and  yawn  openly, 
promising  himself  that  the  next  morning  he  would  tell 
Cathy  what  she  was  in  for.  You  could  trust  Cathy  to  stand 
firm  upon  a  scruple;  and  to  let  Robert  immediately  show 


CATHY  ROSSITER  61 

that  he  loved  her,  before  the  divorce  was  a  week  old,  was 
literally  indecent.  There  was  a  fine  constancy  in  Twyford, 
and  he  stuck  to  whatever  he  put  his  hand  to,  for  he  had  a 
latent  sense  of  rigorous  fidelity.  Cathy  must  be  got  out 
of  this  over-heated  atmosphere  and  taken  to  the  country. 
She  must  stop  this  craze  for  talking  of  the  conditions  of  the 
poor  and  the  existence  of  social  evils ;  if  she  had  a  nursery 
it  would  cure  her  and  give  her  an  object  upon  which  to 
spend  herself  lavishly.  Though  he  was  not  a  psychologist, 
he  felt  quite  sure  that  Cathy  would  never  give  any  man 
the  central  place  in  her  life.  She  would  reserve  that  for 
a  son. 

Cathy  turned  to  Robert,  and  her  face  was  penitent. 

"I  have  hurt  Twyford,"  she  said  regretfully.  "I  hope 
you  are  worth  it." 

"Can  he  be  hurt?"  Amyas  glanced  across  the  room  and 
gave  his  cold  laugh.  "If  you  took  a  hatchet,  perhaps;  he 
isn't  exactly  a  sensitive  plant.  And  that  leads  me  on  to 
your  other  friend.  What  awful  virtue  has  he  displayed? 
I  find  him  the  reverse  of  attractive." 

"Colonel  Lorrimer?"  Cathy  grew  earnest.  "I  must  tell 
you,  though  I  suppose  it  is  not  really  fair.  It  was  he  who 
found  Batkins." 

Amyas  looked  up  at  the  ornate  ceiling,  which  was  a 
mass  of  gold,  blue  and  brown,  and  distressed  him. 

"Where?"  he  asked  drily. 

"In  a  restaurant  in  Soho." 

"Does  he  usually  go  about  Soho  with  a  landing-net,  sav- 
ing pretty  ladies  in  thin  silk  stockings  and  fur  coats?" 

Cathy  became  eager.  She  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about 
Lorrimer,  and  she  told  the  story  well.  That  Amyas  was 
mean  and  sceptical  did  not  affect  her  at  all.  Lorrimer  had 
acted  unconsciously,  and  had  shown  what  manner  of  man 
he  was.  He  had  been  kind  and  simple  throughout. 

"You  should  hear  Batkins  talk  of  him,"  Cathy  went  on; 
"she  can't  say  too  much." 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  her,"  Robert's  voice  was  weary  and 
fretful;  "I  don't  like  all  these  saintly  people.  It  isn't 
natural.  If  we  go  on  at  this  rate,  Cathy,  the  world  will  be 


62  CATHY  ROSSITER 

no  place  for  the  likes  of  me.  I  become  nauseated.  Besides," 
he  looked  at  her  sideways,  "I  don't  swallow  it  all.  I  don't 
believe  that  very  massive  people  are  ever  saints ;  it's  against 
the  aesthetic  tradition.  Were  he  thin,"  he  continued  reflec- 
tively, "I  might  be  persuaded,  but  he  is  too  large.  Look  at 
him  now." 

Cathy  turned,  and  let  her  gaze  travel  down  the  room  to 
where  Lorrimer  was  sitting  talking  to  her  cousin  Otho. 
They  were  slightly  apart  from  a  larger  group,  and  Otho 
was  telling  a  story  which  amused  Lorrimer.  He  was  laugh- 
ing rather  too  loudly,  and  he  was  not  looking  his  best  at 
the  moment. 

"Nothing  you  have  told  me  convinces  me,"  Amyas  re- 
marked, and  he  was  pleased  to  see  that  Cathy  shrank  quite 
suddenly  from  her  former  attitude  of  admiration.  She 
watched  Lorrimer  with  a  look  almost  approaching  to  fear 
on  her  face,  and  then  she  seemed  angry,  but  her  momentary 
irritation  passed  by  like  a  summer  cloud. 

"You  are  rather  like  a  black-beetle,  yourself,"  she  said, 
"shiny,  reserved  and  empty,  Robert.  A  very  smartly  turned 
out  black-beetle  who  is  in  the  right  set,  and  yet  you  can't 
imagine  anyone  finding  any  kind  of  fault  with  you." 

"I  want  you  to  be  careful,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a  dif- 
ferent voice.  "Cathy,  I  expect  my  nerves  are  in  a  bad 
way.  I  have  been  trying  a  whole  variety  of  dopes  because 
I  couldn't  sleep,  and  it  isn't  good  for  the  nerves,  but  I  want 
you  not  to  play  around  with  Lorrimer.  He  doesn't  belong 
to  us,  and  he  isn't  of  our  -kind." 

"Don't  be  arrogant;  that  argument  is  the  last  I  shall 
listen  to,"  Cathy  said  rapidly. 

"He  may  be  a  divine  coalheaver,"  Amyas  went  on,  not 
heeding  her,  "but  I  don't  like  him.  He  is  going  to  be  a 
success.  No  one  wanted  him  when  he  came,  and  he  has 
made  at  least  two  friends  to-night.  He'll  do  Otho  well 
enough  to  make  pretty  certain  of  him.  Stockton,  who  is 
always  on  the  look-out  for  a  new  man,  preferably  with 
money,  has  also  made  a  note  of  your  friend." 

"What  a  lot  you  have  to  say,"  Cathy  laughed.  "And 
all  this  advice?" 


CATHY  ROSSITER  63 

"Oh,  can't  you  see  that  he  is  in  love  with  you?"  Amyas 
spoke  with  a  queer  touch  of  passion.  "He  ought  not  to  be 
allowed  to  speak  to  you." 

"It  is  extraordinary  how  unfair  you  allow  yourself  to 
be,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Twyford,  or  any  of  the  others,  would  never  try  and 
take  a  mean  advantage  of  you,  Cathy,"  Amyas  continued, 
"but  this  fellow  will.  If  he  can  haul  you  in  somehow,  I 
feel  he  will  do  it.  I  believe  he  knew  all  the  time  who  Miss 
Batten  really  was,  and  it  was  an  investment.  He  bought 
her  good-will,  and  he  knew  what  it  would  be  worth  to  him." 
He  paused  for  a  second.  "I'm  sorry,  I  really  am,  be- 
cause I'm  being  so  spiteful,  and  I  loathe  seriousness  of 
speech;  it's  all  because  of  that  man  whom  I  don't  believe 
in." 

Cathy  got  up  and  vanished  from  him,  withdrawing  her- 
self deliberately.  She  had  had  enough  of  Robert  in  this 
mood.  He  sat  where  she  had  left  him,  his  shoulders  droop- 
ing and  his  eyes  turned  ironically  towards  Lorrimer,  who 
was  still  exhibiting  a  boisterous  hilarity  in  the  company 
of  cousin  Otho.  Her  own  mind  hovered  around  Lorrimer, 
and  she  realised  quite  clearly  that  he  flourished  almost 
grossly  under  the  encouragement  of  success.  Such  was 
the  external  judgment,  but  she  recalled  Miss  Batten's  testi- 
mony. Batkins  had  described  him  as  the  acme  of  delicacy 
and  consideration.  His  simplicity,  his  blunt  kindliness,  his 
tact  .  .  .  and  all  this  surprised  in  him  in  a  secret  hour,  far 
from  witnesses.  As  she  sat  down  and  began  to  talk  to 
Lady  Margaret,  she  reproved  herself  harshly.  Robert 
had  influenced  her  for  a  moment,  and  she  resented  the 
idea. 

Lady  Margaret  was  petulant  and  feeling  ill.  She  asked, 
rather  pointedly,  who  "that  large,  noisy  man"  was,  and 
again  Cathy  became  Lorrimer's  trumpeter,  but,  before  she 
had  explained  him,  Lady  Margaret  was  obviously  bored. 
She  felt,  very  strongly,  that  there  was  every  need  for  a 
class  blockade,  and  under  the  stress  of  strikes,  taxes,  and  a 
possible  incursion  of  servants  who  desired  to  be  addressed 
as  "Miss,"  and  alluded  to  as  "the  young  lady,"  that  a  line 


64  CATHY  ROSSITER 

must  be  drawn  taut  and  strong.  Quite  clearly  she  rele- 
gated Lorrimer  to  the  outside  ring,  and  was  fussed,  and 
slightly  irritable,  since  he  was  there  at  all.  Her  kindness 
was  waning  as  the  conditions  of  life  became  more  trouble- 
some, and,  though  she  was  prepared  to  patronise  to  almost 
any  extent,  she  grew  actively  hostile  when  the  masses  be- 
gan to  talk  of  "rights." 

"I  don't  mind  having  to  call  a  servant  'Miss'  if  it  pleases 
her,"  Cathy  said.  "It's  a  very  easy  concession  to  make. 
The  only  reliable  standard  of  so-called  gentility  is  char- 
acter." 

"Don't  talk  wild  nonsense,  Cathy,"  Lady  Margaret  re- 
plied. She  saw,  with  visible  stiffening  of  her  back,  that 
Lorrimer  was  proposing  to  join  them,  and  she  gave  him 
an  icy  nod,  merely  admitting  his  existence,  when  Cathy 
introduced  him  formally.  He  became  awkward  at  once  and 
looked  as  though  he  wished  to  propitiate  Lady  Margaret. 

"I  think  you  often  talk  in  a  way  which  is  likely  to  do 
harm,"  Lady  Margaret  went  on,  ignoring  Lorrimer.  "In 
fact,  I  can't  think  what  we  are  all  coming  to." 

She  had  never  really  recovered  from  the  Miss  Batten 
episode,  and  it  had  soured  her. 

"It  is  not  a  bad  time,"  Lorrimer  remarked;  he  was  feel- 
ing more  secure  again,  for  Cathy  had  bathed  him  in  a 
golden  glance,  full  of  encouragement. 

"We  are  asleep,"  Cathy  went  on  with  growing  enthusi- 
asm. "I  detest  our  dull  mental  sloth,  our  fatuous  ignor- 
ance. Where  has  cur  imagination  gone  to,  Colonel  Lor- 
rimer ?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Cathy?"  Lady  Margaret  frowned 
and  twitched  her  eyebrows.  "Who  is  lacking  in  what? 
By  sloth,  I  suppose  you  mean  laziness.  Servants  are  all 
hopelessly  lazy" 

Lorrimer  glanced  from  Lady  Margaret's  eyebrows  to 
Cathy's  lighted  face,  and  he  spoke  at  once.  He  had  a 
good  strong  voice,  and  he  said  something  about  "doing  the 
right  thing"  and  "playing  the  game";  he  said  that  he  was 
an  optimist,  and  that,  in  due  time,  the  world  would  re- 
turn to  sanity. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  65 

Lady  Margaret  looked  at  him  with  her  peering  eyes,  and 
nodded  once  or  twice.  Lorrimer  was  better  than  she  had 
suspected,  and  he  seemed  to  be  right-minded,  though  she 
still  disapproved  of  his  outward  lack  of  breeding. 

They  were  disturbed  in  the  end  by  Twyford,  who  acted 
like  a  stopper,  and  put  an  end  to  the  conference  which  was 
already  becoming  hopelessly  involved. 

Twyford,  by  right  of  relationship,  remained  on  after  the 
others  had  left,  and  Lady  Carstairs  withdrew  discreetly. 
She  wanted  Cathy  to  marry  Twyford  and  get  it  done. 
They  had  been  "as  good  as  engaged"  for  years,  but  she 
preferred  a  regularised  footing.  She  had  watched  Cathy 
and  Robert  Amyas  with  a  slight  touch  of  uneasiness.  Of 
course,  Robert  Anryas  was  "the  innocent  party,"  even 
though  innocence  was  a  word  hardly  calculated  to  suggest  his 
personality;  but  he  had  not  been  a  success  as  a  husband. 
Cathy,  with  her  awful  tendency  towards  sympathy,  was 
quite  capable  of  making  the  man  think  she  cared — and  then, 
she  never  really  did  care.  How  many  of  these  tragedies 
the  recording  angel  had  already  registered  in  Cathy's 
dossier!  Twyford  was  deplorably  slow.  He  took  ages  in 
doing  anything,  and,  worse  still,  he  took  far  too  much  for 
granted.  Was  he  going  to  stand  there  staring  widely  at 
Cathy,  until  at  length  some  whim  caught  her  into  the 
wrong  sort  of  marriage?  Lady  Carstairs  melted  away, 
saying  to  herself  that  "two  was  company."  Getting  Twy- 
ford up  to  the  point  of  action  was  like  moving  the  whole 
House  of  Lords  single-handed,  but  she  hoped  sincerely  that 
to-night  would  settle  it. 

He  came  to  where  Cathy  was  standing,  her  face  a  little 
pale  and  her  eyes  tired.  The  evening  had  reduced  her  in 
an  indefinable  way,  and  she  was  less  happy,  less  gay  than 
usual.  Still  she  smiled  as  he  spoke  to  her. 

"Cathy,"  he  said,  in  his  quiet,  bored  way,  "I  wonder  when 
you  intend  to  let  me  have  a  chance  to  ask  you  to  marry 
me?" 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me,"  her  voice  implored  him.  "Can't 
we  be  friends?  I  don't  want  to  be  married." 


66  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Not  >et,  but  some  time.  Besides,"  he  coloured  a  little, 
"I  love  you,  Cathy." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  loved  Nora,"  she  said  half  sadly.  "I  know  you 
did." 

Twyford  looked  at  the  floor  and  considered  her  words. 

"I  did,"  he  agreed,  "but — well,  you  know  the  story,  and 
it's  ended  long  ago.  Can't  you  believe  that  I  love  you  ?" 

He  came  to  her,  and  stood  patiently  watching  her  face. 

"I  want  your  friendship,"  she  said,  and  then,  without 
any  warning,  she  sat  down  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

Twyford  bent  over  her,  troubled  and  distressed.  She 
seemed  to  him  to  be  talking  fierce,  miserable  nonsense,  and 
to  be  consumed  with  her  longing  to  do  something  with  her 
life  which  would  be  of  use — of  use — of  use.  He  had  al- 
ways regarded  her  talk  as  something  which  really  meant 
very  little,  and  now  it  appeared  that  it  meant  everything  to 
Cathy  Rossiter.  She  was  telling  him  that  she  had  lived  far 
from  perils  and  hardships,  and  that  it  was  all  arranged 
thus  for  her  at  the  price  of  suffering. 

"You'll  end  by  getting  into  trouble,"  he  said,  forgetting 
himself  in  his  sudden  anxiety  for  her.  "Cathy,  all  this 
talk  of  yours  is  eyewash,  and  yet  I  believe  you  mean  it 
seriously." 

It  seemed  to  Twyford  as  though  Cathy  was  looking  at 
something  which  he  could  not  see.  "When  things  are  strong 
enough  to  be  true,"  she  said,  "they  have  to  be." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  evolution  of  Miss  Batten  continued  steadily,  and  she 
was  rapidly  becoming  a*  capable  secretary.  She  had  grown 
less  indistinct  in  the  process,  and  had  a  look  of  maturity 
she  had  formerly  lacked.  In  fact,  Batkins  was  developing 
into  a  real  person,  so  far  as  in  her  lay.  She  had  work 
which  she  was  doing  creditably,  she  had  begun  to  earn  a 
living  wage,  and  she  had  an  idol;  so  it  may  be  said  that 
her  gods  were  kind.  She  saw  very  little  of  Lorrimer,  but 
when  she  did  see  him  he  was  genial  and  threw  her  little 
words  of  kindness,  as  a  dog-lover  throws  bits  of  cake  to 
a  good  dog.  She  wanted  to  save  his  life  at  the  risk 
of  her  own,  to  perform  some  dramatic  act  of  devotion. 

Next  to  Colonel  Lorrimer,  Miss  Batten's  love  was  given 
to  Cathy  Rossiter,  and  Cathy's  interest  in  her  was  a  help 
and  a  joy,  like  some  wonderful  luxury,  to  be  indulged  in 
now  and  then.  Sometimes,  when  her  day  was  over  and 
she  lay  awake  in  the  little  bedroom  in  Mrs.  Hack's  house, 
Miss  Batten  dreamed  that  the  two  people  who  filled  her 
life  with  its  echo  of  romance  would  come  to  love  each 
other.  She  was  deeply  sentimental,  and  she  still  dallied 
with  the  gorgeous  dream  of  love  at  second-hand.  Inspired 
by  certain  indications  she  had  noticed,  she  became  alert 
and  eager,  and  threw  her  puny  forces  on  the  side  of  her 
idol.  She  guessed  his  secret,  and,  in  the  knowledge  of  it, 
she  spoke  of  him  to  Cathy  with  eternal  adulation. 

But  if  Cathy  was  kind  to  Batkins,  out  of  a  wide  heart, 
Monica  Henstock  was  kinder  still,  and  her  kindness  took 
a  strictly  practical  form. 

Six  months'  training  had  made  Miss  Batten  into  a  quali- 
fied secretary,  and,  though  she  had  still  much  to  learn, 
Monica  decided  that  she  was  quite  sufficiently  skilled  to 
take  up  the  duty  of  answering  her  professional  cor- 

67 


68  CATHY  ROSSITER 

respondence,  seeing  people  and  arranging  interviews,  and 
generally  making  herself  of  use  in  the  small  house  with 
the  brass  plate  on  the  door.  Thus,  Miss  Batten  was  re- 
moved from  Bayswater  and  inhabited  an  upper  bedroom 
under  the  roof  of  Monica  Henstock.  She  admired  Dr. 
Henstock  but  felt  slightly  afraid  of  her.  At  times,  her 
sword-like  directness  of  speech  alarmed  Miss  Batten,  as 
did  her  quite  off-hand  and  natural  allusions  to  the  ex- 
perience which  the  ex-governess  had  put  away  from  her. 

The  strange  part  of  the  whole  arrangement  was  that 
somehow,  and  quite  unexpectedly,  Miss  Batten  found  her- 
self in  the  very  centre  of  a  ring,  composed  of  Monica, 
Cathy  and  Lorrimer. 

Her  life  was  a  busy  one  and  there  was  not  very  much 
time  for  thought,  but  occasionally  she  felt  that  Monica 
really  did  not  either  like  or  want  her  very  much.  It  was 
another  act  of  kindness,  perhaps?  The  world  had  turned 
so  fiercely  kind  ever  since  .  .  .  she  stopped  abruptly,  for  she 
did  not  wish  to  recall  the  Restaurant  "Voyons."  The  room 
where  she  sat  was  warm  and  comfortable  and  her  own 
little  bedroom  opened  off  it.  Outside,  there  was  a  narrow 
landing,  and  from  there  you  could,  by  looking  downwards 
like  the  "Blessed  Damozel,"  see  the  hall  below. 

Opposite  to  Batkins,  on  the  wall,  there  was  fastened  a 
large  poster,  encircled  by  the  W.S.P.U.  colours.  It  de- 
picted a  woman  blowing  a  trumpet  and  waving  a  flag, 
upon  which  was  written,  in  old  English  lettering,  the  great 
word  "Liberty."  All  this  was  now  vieux  jeu  and  the  days 
of  battle  were  over,  but  the  word  attracted  Miss  Batten, 
and  frequently  inspired  her  to  get  up  and  look  over  the 
banisters  outside. 

She  began  with  a  firmly  outlined  idea  of  Dr.  Henstock's 
great  contempt  towards  men,  and  it  was  only  very  gradu- 
ally she  began  to  realise  that  there  was  certainly  one  ex- 
ception to  the  rule.  If  Lorrimer  was  expected,  Monica 
would  use  any  subterfuge  to  avoid  being  absent,  and  the  sick 
might  call  for  her,  and  anxious  friends  and  relations  ring 
up  in  vain.  Miss  Batten,  whose  conscience  was  tender,  be- 
came aware  that  there  was  a  strain  of  ruthlessness  in  Moni- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  69 

ca,  which  showed  under  stress  of  strong  feeling.  One  day, 
when  Dr.  Henstock  had  been  in  a  communicative  mood, 
and  had  spoken  to  Batkins  as  though  she  regarded  her  as 
a  friend,  Miss  Batten  had  all  but  confided  the  great  ro- 
mance to  what  she  imagined  to  be  sympathetic  ears.  But, 
luckily,  she  had  stopped  short.  Some  instinct  struck  her 
dumb,  just  in  time,  and  she  sat  in  the  firelight  and  listened 
spellbound  to  Monica's  views  on  the  furnishing  of  Lor- 
rimer's  flat.  She  had  furnished  it.  That  very  day  the 
whole  toil  had  been  completed,  and  Monica  could  not  en- 
tirely veil  her  triumphant  joy. 

"Cathy  Rossiter  has  taken  him  up,"  she  added,  "but  he 
can't  have  thought  very  much  of  her  taste."  Dr.  Henstock 
paused.  "Did  you  ever  hear  her  say  what  she  thought  of 
Colonel  Lorrimer?" 

Miss  Batten  burst  into  eulogy,  her  ears  tingling,  and  with 
a  feeling  as  though  she  had  a  frightened  mouse  inside  her, 
instead  of  a  heart.  Monica  was  not  pleased.  She  took 
up  a  book  and  began  to  read  it  firmly.  It  was  at  that  point 
that  Batkins  suddenly  became  illuminated.  She  saw  that 
Monica  was  a  woman  whose  mind  is  made  up.  Dr.  Hen- 
stock  had  decided  to  marry  Colonel  Lorrimer,  and,  such 
being  the  case,  where  was  the  wonderful  romance,  which 
connected  itself  entirely  with  Cathy,  likely  to  disappear  to? 

She  looked  at  Monica  with  new  eyes,  and  saw  the  strength 
in  her  brow  and  the  formation  of  her  nose.  Dr.  Henstock, 
for  all  her  fragility,  had  a  "passionate  nostril."  She  also 
noted  the  mouth,  which  Monica  used  freely  in  grimace,  and 
she  trembled.  She  loved  Lorrimer  with  a  purely  imper- 
sonal love,  as  one  loves  someone  who  is  limitlessly  wiser, 
greater  and  kinder  than  oneself.  Cathy  was  her  ideal 
woman,  and  Cathy's  urgent,  impulsive  talk  always  intoxi- 
cated Batkins  pleasantly.  It  thrilled  her  to  hear  Cathy 
talk  red  Republicanism,  while  she  looked  like  a  queen. 

If  Monica  Henstock  had  vowed  in  her  heart  to  marry 
Lorrimer,  what  possible  chance  had  he  of  escape? 

Monica  put  down  the  book,  closing  it,  instead  of  laying 
it  open  astride  her  knee,  because  she  was  thoughtful  about 
bindings  and  respected  books,  treating  them  carefully. 


70  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"People  should  always  marry  in  their  own  class,"  Monica 
said,  and  Batkins  bowed  silently  in  assent.  "You  have 
heard  Miss  Rossiter  talk  of  equality,  but  she  is  quite  the 
last  person  living  who  knows  what  is  meant  by  the  word. 
If  a  man  marries  above  him,  socially,  it  puts  him  at  a  dis- 
advantage ;  if  a  woman  marries  beneath  her,  it's  always 
taken  as  an  evidence  of  coarseness." 

"But,"  objected  Miss  Batten,  "if  two  people  love  each 
other.  .  .  ." 

Dr.  Henstock  shrugged  her  shoulders.  She  had  written 
a  treatise  on  the  subject  of  married  love,  which  emphatically 
stated  that  it  was  all  a  matter  of  animal  instinct. 

Monica  crossed  her  well-shod  feet  one  over  the  other, 
and  Miss  Batten  noticed  that  she  was  wearing  expensive 
silk  stockings.  "If  marriage  is  to  be  a  reasonably  suc- 
cessful affair,  it  should  be  based  upon  similarity  of  origin 
as  well  as  of  taste." 

Miss  Batten's  mind  wandered.  She  was  beginning  to 
grow  inwardly  restless,  when  the  distant  sound  of  an  elec- 
tric bell  made  Monica  change  as  by  enchantment.  She 
faltered  in  the  middle  of  a  phrase  and  lost  the  thread 
of  her  discourse;  her  pale  skin  flushed  and  she  made  a 
jerky  movement  with  her  hands. 

"If  this  should  be  Colonel  Lorrimer,  you  need  not  stay," 
she  remarked  almost  nervously,  and  at  once  Miss  Batten 
arose  to  go.  She  had  to  believe,  on  evidence,  that  Dr. 
Henstock  was  kind  to  her  and  wanted  her  society,  but  her 
own  instinct  suggested  that  another  motive  was  mixed  in 
with  altruism.  Cathy's  kindness  was  as  different  as  two 
things,  calling  themselves  by  the  same  name,  well  could  be, 
and  Batkins  picked  up  a  notebook  and  a  pencil  and  with- 
drew herself  humbly. 

In  the  hall  she  encountered  Lorrimer,  who  was  taking 
off  his  overcoat.  It  was  a  racy-looking  coat,  and  the  soft 
hat  he  wore  had  a  sporting  suggestion.  He  looked  happy, 
and  his  thick  figure  barred  her  path.  There  was  a  smell  of 
Harris  tweed  cigars,  and  frosty  air  in  the  small  space,  and 
Lorrimer  had  brought  them  there.  Miss  Batten's  heart 
leaped,  and  she  touched  his  outheld  hand,  feeling  almost 


as  though  she  would  drop  at  his  feet.  There  were  times 
when  this  vast  human  being  literally  charged  upon  her  and 
overcame  her  in  his  power. 

He  made  some  quite  ordinary  remark,  and  told  her  that 
she  looked  pale,  suggested  that  Dr.  Henstock  was  over- 
working her,  and,  as  she  felt  that  this  was  meant  as  a 
joke,  she  gave  a  weak  little  laugh.  He  was  going  to  talk 
to  Dr.  Henstock  like  a  father  .  .  .  how  little  he  really  knew 
of  relationships.  .  .  .  He  was  not  going  to  have  her  turned 
into  a  slave,  because,  what  would  Miss  Rossiter  say?  Had 
she  seen  Miss  Rossiter  lately? 

Miss  Batten  summoned  up  a  great  courage  and  spoke. 

"I  think  Miss  Rossiter  has  been  busy,"  she  said.  "I 
took  two  calls  from  her  lately,  as  Dr.  Henstock  was  out. 
Each  time  Miss  Rossiter  said  that  she  wanted  Dr.  Hen- 
stock  to  go  with  her  to  a  meeting  at  the  Progress  Club." 

Lorrimer  bit  the  side  of  his  forefinger  and  looked  down, 
looked  sideways,  an'd  then  looked  at  Miss  Batten. 

"Did  she  go?"  he  asked,  nodding  towards  the  drawing- 
room. 

Miss  Batten  shook  her  head,  and  made  a  silent  "No" 
with  her  lips. 

"Why?" 

"Dr.  Henstock  objects."  Batkins  looked  at  him  im- 
ploringly. She  would  be  in  disgrace  for  keeping  him  in  the 
hall,  yet  still  he  blocked  the  way.  "She  does  not  improve," 
she  added  in  her  meek  voice,  and  Lorrimer  made  himself 
comparatively  smaller  and  permitted  her  to  pass. 

She  went  up  the  staircase  and  looked  down  from  the 
upper  landing.  Lorrimer  was  still  there.  He  was  think- 
ing, with  his  hands  in  his  coat  pockets,  and  he  was  not 
satisfied.  From  her  vantage  ground  Miss  Batten  watched 
him  open  the  drawing-room  door  and  go  in,  she  heard  the 
raised  voice  of  Monica  giving  him  welcome  as  though  he 
were  the  last  person  she  expected  to  see,  and  then  the 
door  closed,  and  Miss  Batten  had  perforce  to  retire  into  her 
own  room,  where  the  fire  needed  attention. 

As  she  blew  the  little  flames  and  nursed  them  into 
strength,  her  pale,  insignificant  face  was  troubled  and  dis- 


72  CATHY  ROSSITER 

tressed,  and  her  thin  hands  shook  and  trembled.  It  would 
be  awful  if  Monica  intervened — awful,  awful,  and  again 
awful. 

When  Lorrimer  had  accepted  Monica's  welcome,  he  sat 
down  and  stretched  out  his  legs,  tie  had  a  great  many 
things  to  tell  her.  It  is  not  enough  to  be  successful,  one 
must  also  have  an  audience,  and  Monica  was  a  thoroughly 
trustworthy  listener.  She  was  as  much  interested  in  Lor- 
rimer as  he  was  in  himself. 

A  second  before  she  had  been  madly  angry,  and  sat  in 
her  chair  white  and  tense.  After  all,  she  had  her  own 
deeply  rooted  disbelief  in  man,  and  she  knew  that  Batkins 
had  transgressed.  In  a  second  she  was  suspicious  of  them 
both,  and  felt  that,  for  all  she  knew,  there  might  be  some 
hidden  attraction  in  her  secretary.  She  had  trembled  on 
the  very  edge  of  a  scene,  and  it  took  all  her  powers  of  com- 
mand to  control  her  own  sudden  emotion.  The  delayed 
entrance  of  Lorrimer  altered  everything  in  a  flash,  and  she 
knelt  before  him  in  spirit,  very  much  as  Miss  Batten  had 
done. 

He  had  been  thinking  of  Cathy  as  he  stood  outside  the 
door,  but,  when  he  saw  Monica,  he  thought  of  himself 
again.  Things  had  been  happening,  things  of  the  very 
greatest  interest,  and  he  demanded  her  attention  at  once. 

He  had  lunched  with  Stockton,  dined  with  him,  and  had 
met  a  number  of  his  colleagues.  It  was  flattering  enough, 
but  what  followed  was  even  more  so.  He  had  been  invited 
to  stay  for  a  week-end  with  Culworth  Jesson,  who  was 
organiser  in  chief  of  the  Progressive  Party.  He  waited 
for  Monica's  enthusiastic  applause  to  die  down  and  went  on 
retrospectively.  He  knew  that  they  were  "soundin'  "  him, 
and  he  was  careful  to  give  nothing  away. 

There  had  been  no  ladies  in  the  party  at  Fratton,  Cul- 
worth Jesson's  huge  country  place.  Women  played  a  very 
small  part  in  the  busy  lives  of  these  men  whose  game  was 
the  ruling  of  Empire  and  whose  playground  was  the  map 
of  Europe.  Lorrimer  had  adopted  one  or  two  new  man- 
nerisms and  added  several  new  words  to  his  limited  vo- 
cabulary. Monica  listened  and  was  happy.  He  had  grown 


CATHY  ROSSITER  73 

very  much  more  sure  of  himself,  and  he  no  longer  regarded 
Monica  with  his  old  touch  of  schoolboy  awe;  and  yet  she 
was  wonderfully  necessary  to  his  life.  Cathy  listened  and 
was  interested,  but  she  was,  of  necessity,  not  impressed  by 
his  successes.  She  did  not  know  how  very  successful  he 
really  was. 

Lorrimer  looked  at  Monica's  eyes  and  thick,  red  hair. 
She  was  lacking  in  some  special  charm,  but  she  had  splendid 
qualities,  and  as  he  looked  he  felt  a  kind  of  fleeting  sor- 
row to  know  that  she  could  not  now  awaken  the  thrills  and 
trembles  which  are  part  of  the  mystery  of  love. 

"Stockton  told  me,"  he  said,  lighting  a  cigarette,  "that 
Jesson  is  anxious  to  get  men  who  are  not  professional  poli- 
ticians into  the  Progressive  Party.  There  is  to  be  a  by- 
election  down  in  Buckinghamshire,  the  Kingslade  con- 
stituency, and,  as  I  have  been  in  treaty  with  Lennard  and 
Moreton  for  Kingslade  Park,  it  is  quite  possible,"  he 
paused,  and  tried  to  speak  as  though  it  was  a  merely  ordi- 
nary matter,  "that  they  may  ask  me  to  stand." 

Monica  held  out  her  hands  to  him  and  he  took  them, 
squeezed  them  hard  and  laid  them  carefully  back  on  her 
knees.  She  was  tender,  now;  inexhaustibly  interested  in 
his  interests,  glad  as  a  mother,  and  tremulously  proud  and 
elated. 

Lorrimer  talked  on. 

"It  is  only  a  possibility,"  he  said,  suddenly  remembering 
that  he  had  no  guarantee  for  any  assertion,  "and,  of  course, 
absolutely  confidential." 

"Does  Cathy  know?"  she  asked,  and  she  covered  up  the 
sharp  little  edge  which  was  hidden  in  the  question  with  an 
added  sweetness  of  voice.  She  felt  that  she  must  hear 
from  him  whether  he  had  made  her  his  first  confidence  or 
not. 

"I  have  told  no  one  but  you,"  ^Lorrimer  replied,  and 
it  seemed  to  Monica  that  the  whole  world  became  radiant. 

"I  shouldn't  say  anything."  Monica  brushed  a  strand 
of  silk  off  her  neat  skirt.  "Cathy  is  an  angel,  but  she  isn't 
always  safe.  She  might  let  it  all  out  to  Twyford,  or  Gor- 
•  don  Sutton,  that  unspeakable  idiot;  they  will  certainly  have 


74  CATHY  ROSSITER 

a  man  of  their  own  for  Kingslade.  Have  you  really  bought 
Kingslade  Park?" 

"I  shall  buy  it,"  Lorrimer  leaned  back  comfortably.  He 
did  like  Monica.  Why  was  marriage  so  difficult  a  prob- 
lem, and  why  couldn't  he  feel  that  she  was  all  he  wanted? 
She  had  a  way  of  making  Cathy  less  impressive  when  she 
spoke  of  her,  and  yet  Cathy  herself  refuted  this  lessening 
every  time  he  saw  her. 

Kingslade  was  a  large,  imposing-looking  house,  standing 
in  the  centre  of  a  compact  estate,  and,  though  Lorrimer 
might  have  become  the  owner  of  a  more  pretentious  dwelling, 
there  wag,  a  great  deal  of  solid  effect  connected  with  its 
possessorship.  He  passed  on  with  a  rather  elephantine 
rapidity  from  the  question  of  Kingslade,  and  returned 
to  his  possible  nomination  as  a  Progressive  candidate. 

"Don't  think  that  I  meant  that  Cathy  isn't  to  be  trusted," 
Monica  said,  with  a  sudden,  gentle  little  drop  in  her  voice, 
"only,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that  she  gets  so  very 
enthusiastic  it  makes  her  forget  that  one  can't  speak  of 
everything  without  reserve." 

"At  present  it  is  a  secret,"  Lorrimer  said,  and  he  looked 
rather  gloomy. 

He  disliked  the  idea  of  a  woman  being  over-communica- 
tive; his  own  sisters  "told"  upon  all  occasions.  Their 
latest  friends  were  always  informed  of  everything,  and  they 
showed  letters  and  shared  confidences  freely.  Surely  Cathy 
was  not  capable  of  the  same  error  in  taste. 

"Have  you  seen  Miss  Rossiter  lately?"  he  asked;  he 
was  certainly  not  going  to  discuss  her,  even  with  Monica. 

"Not  very."  Monica  fumbled  under  the  table  and  re- 
turned to  the  green  silk  tie  which  she  intended  for  Jack. 
"I  had  to  indulge  myself  in  plain  speech,  and  Cath  was 
hurt." 

Her  hands  were  quite  cool,  and  she  knew  that  the  emo- 
tional point  had  been  passed  and  left  behind  for  the  'time 
being.  Lorrimer  was  too  much  occupied  with  himself  to 
drift  into  the  misty  regions  where  she  had  waited  for  him 
in  vain.  She  knitted  rapidly. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  75 

''She  is  getting  swept  into  the  Danielli  lot.  Perhaps  you 
don't  know  who  I  mean?" 

"Never  heard  of  them." 

"Danielli  is  a  wild,  good-looking  Republican.  The  sort 
of  man  who  talks  about  the  'March  Revolution,'  or  'Bloody 
Friday/  and  dates  everything  with  a  cataclysm.  He  is 
mixed  up  with  all  the  strikes,  and  in  with  the  extreme 
Labour  Group.  Where  Cathy  happened  on  the  creature  I 
don't  know.  All  I  do  know  is  that  she  ought  to  be  pre- 
vented. She  has  joined  the  Progress  Club  and  talks  all  the 
jargon.  'Soviets,'  'Workmen's  Deputies,'  'Federations,' " 
she  gave  a  quick  laugh.  "She  is  calling  for  the  Deluge, 
poor  Cath,  dressed  in  white  chiffon  and  without  the  least 
idea  of  what  it  feels  like  to  be  drenched  to  the  skin." 

"And  this  fellow — this  Danielli?"  Lorrimer  was  stiff 
and  angry  and  spoke  with  a  touch  of  heat. 

"Some  kind  of  mongrel  agitator.  Cathy  was  down  at 
Hoxton  with  the  'Pure  Milk'  gang;  I'm  in  with  them  my- 
self and  have  acted  on  their  committee.  Danielli,  who  is 
always  on  the  look-out  for  discontented  crowds,  came  down 
there,  or  this  is  Cathy's  account  of  it,  with  Mrs.  Greena- 
way." 

"Who's  she?"  Lorrimer  demanded  shortly. 

He  thought  that  the  whole  thing  was  most  annoying.  No 
one,  not  even  Cathy,  can  afford  to  be  alluded  to  as  "One 
of  that  crowd!" 

"She  is  sub-editor  of  The  Future.  Clever,"  Monica 
stopped  and  counted  her  stitches,  "but  can't  talk  of  any- 
thing but  shop  stewards.  Cathy,  as  usual,  embraced  her  as 
a  sister." 

Monica  laughed  indulgently  and  glanced  at  Lorrimer. 
He  was  leaning  over  his  knees,  and  his  face  was  heavy 
and  dulL 

"Do  you  think  that  these  friendships  of  hers  are  a 
danger?"  he  asked  slowly.  It  was  as  though  the  idea 
troubled  him  profoundly. 

"She  will  get  over  them."  Monica  put  down  her  knit- 
ting, and,  in  doing  so,  gave  Lorrimer  a  sense  of  relief. 


76  CATHY  ROSSITER 

''When  she  marries  Twyford  she  will  have  other  things  to 
think  about." 

"Oh,  yes,"  Lorrimer  agreed. 

"Only  I  think  we  should  combine  to  prevent  her  going 
too  far.  Cathy  permits  herself  the  wildest  liberties." 

Monica  looked  at  the  fire;  there  had  been  a  time,  when 
she  was  fighting  for  the  enfranchisement  of  women,  when 
she  too  had  used  rather  extreme  language. 

"Danielli  is  one  of  these  lunatics,"  she  went  on,  "who 
looks  the  part.  Tall,  thin,  eager  and  voluble.  Cathy  said 
that  he  spoke  like  a  torrent ;  I  suggested  a  burst  water- 
pipe.  He  is  a  vegetarian  and  a  teetotaller,  and  gets  his  sen- 
sations out  of  words  and,  probably,  women.  I  thought 
that  he  looked  like  a  civilised  performing  tiger." 

"Why  the  devil  don't  they  put  him  in  the  Zoo?"  Lor- 
rimer said,  getting  to  his  feet.  "I'm  very  sorry,  Monica, 
and  I  agree  that  it's  time  Miss  Rossiter's  friends  did  some- 
thing. What's  Twyford  thinking  about,  if  the  fella'  is 
really  engaged  to  her?" 

"Himself,"  replied  Monica  laconically. 

"Well,  there's  that  other  blighter  who  is  always  there, 
Amyas." 

Monica  laughed  spontaneously. 

"Robert  Amyas !  What  would  you  expect  him  to  do  ? 
He  is  anaemic  and  poetic;  one  condition  working  on  the 
other.  I  should  like  to  write  him  a  prescription,  but  as  for 
his  doing  anything,  he  will  only  make  Cathy  more  deter- 
mined than  ever." 

"They  are  a  wretched,  useless  collection  of  idiots,"  Lor- 
rimer said  in  his  haste.  "I  don't  wonder  she  is  so  fed  up." 

The  whole  pleasant  sense  of  great  things  coming  to  him 
had  been  disturbed  by  this  talk  of  Cathy.  She  really  was 
going  too  far  and  her  dignity  would  become  imperilled.  He 
bestrode  the  hearthrug  and  frowned  down  at  his  boots. 

"I  don't  think  it  is  the  moment  for  you  to  stand  out," 
he  said  at  last.  "You  are  the  best  of  friends,  Monica,  and 
if  the  girl  wants  sensible  advice  you  can  give  it." 

"I  tell  you  I  have.    Oceans  of  it." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  77 

"Look  how  well  you  managed  all  the  business  about 
Miss  Batten." 

Monica  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  that  was  nothing  to  speak  of.  I  never  mix  up 
things,  as  you  know,  Jack.  Until  Batkins  strayed  from  the 
path  of  virtue  Cathy  was  rather  bored  with  her,  but  her 
love  for  sinners  made  her  wildly  enthusiastic  the  moment 
she  thought  that  she  was  dealing  with  a  potential  prostitute. 
If  Twyford  had  any  sense,  and  wanted  to  bring  things  to 
a  head,  all  he  need  do  is  to  get  himself  arrested  on  a  charge 
of  murder.  Cathy  lacks  a  proper  sense  of  proportion,  and 
she  demands  that  anyone  who  wants  her  shall  be  suffer- 
ing from  some  social  eclipse.  It  is  all  very  well,  but  it 
annoys  me.  I  am  her  greatest  friend  and  I  see  the  danger 
to  her." 

"Then,  for  God's  sake,  do  something." 

Lorrimer's  feeling  broke  into  his  voice,  and  Monica 
pressed  her  body  against  the  back  of  her  chair,  much  as  a 
patient  under  the  hands  of  a  dentist  draws  away  from  a 
fiery  sting  of  pain.  Gaps  there  might  be  between  her  and 
Lorrimer,  but  gaps  may  be  bridged  across,  and  she  saved 
herself  with  a  fierce  effort. 

"Of  course  I  will,"  she  said,  and  then  she  got  up  and 
held  out  her  hand.  "I  have  to  turn  you  out,  Jack ;  it's  time 
I  got  myself  ready  for  rather  a  ticklish  operation  I  am 
due  to  perform  to-night.  Come  soon  again,  and  be  sure 
to  tell  me  if  you  hear  anything  more  of  Jesson  and  the 
Kingslade  election." 

Lorrimer  held  her  hand  for  a  second  and  went  away. 
She  seemed  wonderfully  level  and  calm  at  that  moment, 
and  what  she  had  said  about  Cathy  was,  in  a  measure,  true. 
There  was  a  hint,  no  more  than  that,  of  emotionalism  in 
Cathy's  enthusiasms,  and  she  did  not  really  sift  and  weigh 
her  own  principles.  She  was  governed  by  impulse  and  her 
love  of  individuals.  The  distant  idea  of  this  unwashed 
Danielli  was  sickening,  and  Lorrimer  bought  a  copy  of 
The  Future  as  he  passed  a  paper  shop,  in  case  there  should 
be  some  account  of  the  man  in  its  pages.  He  was  not  dis- 
appointed, and  he  studied  the*  blurred  print  which  showed 


78  CATHY  ROSSITER 

a  gaunt-looking  man  with  high  cheek-bones  and  deep-set 
eyes.  Danielli  had  been  born  in  a  jail  and  educated  in  a 
reformatory;  he  had  been  a  stoker,  a  scavenger,  a  field 
labourer,  and  drifted  into  Europe ;  from  Europe  he  drifted 
back  to  England,  by  a  long  and  circuitous  path,  and  all 
the  time  he  had  gathered  in  a  rancorous  class  hatred  which 
had  its  outlet  in  impassioned  impeachments  of  Capitalists. 
Lorrimer  crumpled  up  the  paper,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire  in 
the  smoking-room  of  his  flat,  and  consigned  Danielli  and  all 
his  works  to  Hades.  When  it  came  to  Cathy  taking  a  hand 
in  such  absurd  bellowings  it  was  time  that  Danielli  should 
be  exterminated. 

He  heard  the  flap  of  his  letter-box  registering  the  fact 
that  the  postman  had  come.  The  post  interest,  strong  in 
every  human  heart,  leaped  up  at  once  in  Lorrimer,  and  he 
did  not  wait  for  his  man  to  collect  the  envelopes  from  the 
box,  but  went  himself. 

There  were  some  bills,  but  bills  had  no  terrors  for  him; 
there  was  a  letter  from  Lennard  and  Moreton,  concluding 
the  sale  of  the  Kingslade  estate,  and  there  was  a  short 
line  from  Jesson's  secretary,  saying  that  Mr.  Jesson  would 
like  to  make  an  appointment  with  Colonel  Lorrimer  during 
the  week,  and  mentioning  two  particular  days  when  it 
would  be  possible.  As  well  as  this  there  was  a  long  let- 
ter from  his  mother,  who  had  never  grasped  the  fact  that 
her  son  was  grown  up,  and  who  knew  nothing  about  Kings- 
lade.  You  could  not  ask  Mrs.  Lorrimer  to  govern  at  Kings- 
lade  Park — and  if  not  his  mother,  who  then? 

Was  it  to  be  Monica,  with  her  attractive  looks  and  her 
repulsive  habit  of  talking  of  lancets  and  thermometers,  and 
calling  a  sore  throat  or  a  cut  finger  by  some  awful  medical 
name.  A  woman  who  could  identify  every  gland  and  vein 
in  the  whole  clothed-over  human  body?  Kingslade,  where 
the  Sandowns  had  revelled  in  ignorance  of  the  real  names 
of  their  bones  ?  Kingslade,  which  had  been  the  stage  scene 
of  a  sensational  romance,  and  where  thousands  had  been 
lost  and  won  in  a  night's  play?  It  would  be  utterly  in- 
artistic to  put  either  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  portly  and  common 
and  full  of  a  deadly  assurance,  now  that  she  had  a  large 


CATHY  ROSSITER  79 

balance  at  the  bank,  or  Monica  Henstock,  at  the  head  of 
the  historic  table,  round  which  even  crowned  heads  had 
once  gathered. 

Cathy,  without  or  even  with  her  Daniellis,  Cathy,  with 
her  way  of  coming  into  a  room,  and  her  wonderful,  eager 
face,  all  alight  like  sunshine,  would  be  the  real  soul  of 
Kingslade.  If  Twyford  meant  to  marry  her  he  had  better 
look  sharp  about  it.  Lorrimer  turned  to  the  letter  from 
Jesson's  secretary ;  it  was  coming,  he  knew  that  quite  well. 
Without  anyone  to  push  him,  without  a  friend  in  London, 
except  a  few  old  retired  Colonels  whom  he  had  known  as 
a  subaltern,  he  had  made  his  conquering  way  to  recogni- 
tion and  future  success. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CATHY  ROSSITER  was  in  a  state  of  considerable  excitement 
-as  she  stood  in  Lady  Carstairs'  room.  Lady  Carstairs  was 
sitting  before  her  looking-glass,  dressed  in  a  wonderful  gar- 
•ment  of  grey  watered  silk,  inset  with  embroidered  medal- 
lions. A  chain  of  diamonds  lay  around  her  neck,  glittering 
in  the  light  as  she  breathed  or  moved.  She  wore  a  small 
patch  of  lace  on  her  head,  to  cover  a  thin  parting,  and 
long,  pear-shaped  pearls  hung  at  her  large  ears,  inducing 
people  to  look  at  what  they  might  otherwise  have  avoided. 

Cathy  had  not  changed  for  dinner,  and  was  evidently 
going  out  as  soon  as  it  was  over,  for  she  carried  a  velvet 
cap  in  her  hand  and  a  wide,  turquoise-blue  scarf ;  her  white 
silk  blouse  was  open  at  the  neck,  and  Lady  Carstairs  re- 
marked that  her  niece  would  return  with  a  cold. 

"If,  indeed,  you  get  nothing  worse,  Cathy.  I  do  so  dis- 
like this  new  craze  of  yours.  Why  will  you  go  to  these 
places  ?" 

"It's  quite  a  nice  place,  Aunt  Amy,"  Cathy  replied  with 
her  invariable  good  humour,  and  she  wandered  to  the 
dressing-table.  "The  Progress  Club  is  very  clean.  Mrs. 
Greenaway  chose  all  the  wall-papers."  She  kissed  her 
aunt's  nose,  and,  taking  up  a  wad  of  cotton-wool,  began  to 
powder  her  chin.  "We're  all  Puritans  there,  and  you  bring 
your  own  powder." 

Lady  Carstairs  shook  her  head. 

"The  Times  spoke  of  Danielli ;  it  seems  that  he  is  prob- 
ably a  Jew." 

"Well,  if  he  is  ?"  Cathy  pulled  up  a  chair  and  sat  down. 
"So  was  Christ." 

Lady   Carstairs   looked   desperately   affronted.     "Hush! 
Cathy,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  horror;  it  was  quite  evident 
jthat  she  felt  something  blasphemous  had  been  said. 

80 


CATHY  ROSSITER  8r 

Cathy  reflected  that  if  you  don't  keep  God  out  of  your 
conversation  you  make  everyone  dreadfully  self-conscious 
— even  bishops. 

Lady  Carstairs  coughed,  and  took  up  a  brooch  from  her 
tray  of  trinkets.  It  was  a  very  beautiful  ornament  and  was 
one  of  the  Carstairs'  heirlooms.  When  Elizabeth  married 
she  would  have  it  to  wear  on  her  wedding  gown.  It  lay  in 
her  hand  for  a  second,  and  she  looked  at  it,  though  her 
thoughts  were  busy  with  Cathy. 

"I  feel  sure  that  you  ought  not  to  expose  your  throat," 
said  Lady  Carstairs,  and  she  bent  forward,  and,  putting  the 
brooch,  which  was  a  heavy  emerald  surrounded  by  dia- 
monds, into  Cathy's  blouse,  she  fastened  the  folds  of  silk 
across  and  patted  her  on  the  cheek.  "Take  care  of  that, 
dear,"  she  said  affectionately,  "and  where  did  you  leave 
Mrs.  ?  I  can't  recall  her  name." 

"Janey  Greenaway,"  Cathy  said,  arranging  a  wandering 
lock  of  hair;  "I  left  her  in  my  room  with  a  packet  of 
gaspers." 

"A  what?" 

"Gaspers,"  Cathy  laughed;  "fags,  aunt.  Janey  smokes 
gaspers  all  day  and  even  in  her  dreams.  She  won't  do  it  at 
dinner,  here,  because  I  warned  her  not  to,  but  usually  she 
does.  When  I  was  staying  in  her  flat  off  Paradise  Cause- 
way down  in  Poplar,  she  cooked  breakfast  with  one  in 
her  mouth.  Wasn't  that  clever?" 

Lady  Carstairs  sighed  deeply. 

"I  suppose  she  has  short  hair,"  she  said,  as  though  she 
added  one  more  damning  fact  to  an  already  overwhelming 
mountain  of  evidence. 

"To  here."  Cathy  indicated  her  ear  lobes  and  laughed 
again.  "She  is  very  plain,  I  suppose,  but  she  is  alive." 

"What  does  Twyford  say  to  all  this  ?" 

Lady  Carstairs  got  up  and  showed  signs  of  being  ready 
to  descend  to  dinner. 

"He  says  that Oh,  never  mind  him,  dearest,  he  is 

always  saying  the  same  things." 

She  took  her  aunt's  arm  and  they  walked  out  of  the 


82  CATHY  ROSSITER 

large  room  together.  Cathy  loved  Lady  Carstairs,  and  yet 
she  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  tease  her. 

"Why  don't  you  marry  him?" 

They  were  at  the  head  of  the  staircase  when  Lady  Car- 
stairs  asked  the  question  suddenly,  and  Cathy  turned  her 
violet  blue  eyes  to  her  face  with  a  kind  of  mute  reproach. 

"I  don't  want  to,"  she  said,  her  lightness  forsaking  her 
quite  suddenly.  "We  couldn't  go  on  being  friends  and 
there  wouldn't  be  anything  else  for  us  to  be.  I  think  he 
understands  that." 

"But,  my  dear,  you  are  getting  on."  Lady  Carstairs, 
having  decided  upon  plain  speech,  and  undertaken  it  in  the 
passage,  was  under  self-determined  difficulties,  for  she 
feared  to  be  overheard  and  had  to  modulate  her  tones  care- 
fully. "I  mean  that  you  are  always  charming,  but  it  is 
wiser  to  marry  before  thirty.  You  are  twenty-nine,  Cathy, 
and " 

"I'm  very  hungry,  darling,  and  Janey  and  I  have  to  be 
at  Hammersmith  by  8.30.  We'll  talk  all  this  over  another 
time." 

She  rushed  her  aunt  down  the  wide  staircase,  and  they 
found  Mrs.  Greenaway  in  the  hall,  looking  at  the  portraits 
which  hung  there,  with  a  hard,  contemptuous  gaze. 

"It  always  occurs  to  me,"  she  said,  addressing  Lady 
Carstairs,  "that  to  get  yourself  painted  is  one  of  the  most 
ridiculously  egotistical  acts  of  an  amazingly  self-satisfied 
class.  Look  at  your  own  family  portraits,  Lady  Carstairs ; 
if  I  may  say  so,  they  merely  go  to  prove  that,  in  the  past, 
your  ancestors  looked  greedy  and  respectable.  This  man, 
for  instance,"  she  indicated  a  bishop,  whose  puffy  cheeks 
bulged  out  over  a  white  choker,  and  whose  hand  rested  on  an 
open  book.  "Does  he  look  as  though  he  was  hungering 
and  thirsting  after  righteousness,  or  as  if  he  really  was 
pure  in  heart?  The  lines  around  his  mouth  are  clear  proof 
of  sensuality." 

Cathy  caught  her  by  the  shoulders  and  turned  her  from 
the  picture. 

"Leave  them  alone,"  she  said,  "they  are  all  dead,  rest 
their  souls." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  83 

"You  are  speaking  of  a  remarkably  good  man,"  Lady 
Carstairs  said,  with  the  utmost  politeness;  "a  man  who 
gave  his  life  for  the  good  of  others.  My  great  uncle,  Bishop 
Footner." 

"Of  course,  if  he  died  for  his  people,"  Jane  Greenaway 
said  in  a  more  mollified  voice,  "I  don't  so  much  object  to 
him." 

"He  passed  away  in  his  bed,"  Lady  Carstairs  said  re- 
servedly, as  Mrs.  Greenaway  studied  the  pattern  of  birds 
of  paradise  on  her  soup  plate. 

Dinner  went  through  very  awkwardly,  and,  at  the  end, 
Cousin  Otho  appeared,  spick  and  span  and  bearing  a  ticket 
for  a  box  at  the  Carnival,  where  a  musical  comedy  was  in 
the  height  of  its  popularity.  He  had  thought  to  capture 
Cathy;  Lorrimer  had  said  he  would  turn  up. 

"And  what  in  the  world  is  taking  you  to  Hammersmith?"' 
Otho  asked. 

"If  you  would  come  too,  it  might  teach  you  some  sense," 
said  Janey  Greenaway,  who,  by  special  permission  wrung 
from  Lady  Carstairs,  was  smoking  a  gasper. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  taught  sense,"  he  retorted,  "I  learned 
it  long  ago,  dear  lady;  unless,  of  course,  you  are  going  to 
give  me  special  lessons." 

"Come,  Janey,"  Cathy  got  up  and  snatched  at  her  hat 
and  muffler,  "we  must  not  be  late." 

"And  my  box  at  the  Carnival?"  Otho  demanded. 

"I  expect  you  can  find  someone  else." 

It  was  Mrs.  Greenaway's  answer,  and  she  put  a  world  of 
meaning  into  it.  Otho  and  his  white  shirt  front  irritated 
her.  She  hated  his  well-bred,  drawling  voice  and  his  in- 
sincerity. She  hated  his  bad  manners,  though  her  own 
were  far  worse,  and  she  wished  that  he  could  hear  Danielli 
talking  about  the  leisured  classes. 

"Hurry,  hurry,"  said  Cathy,  who  was  thinking  only  of 
the  lecture. 

"Danielli  doesn't  speak  until  after  Osterov  has  finished,"1 
Mrs.  Greenaway  said,  tying  on  her  own  scarf. 

"And  what  is  Comrade  Osterov  going  to  talk  of  ?"  Otho 
looked  at  her  maliciously. 


84  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"The  hygiene  of  the  mind,"  she  replied,  and  shut  her 
strong,  ugly  mouth  with  a  kind  of  snap. 

Cathy  kissed  her  aunt  and  stood  for  a  little,  in  spite  of 
her  eagerness  to  be  gone,  sparring  with  Otho,  and  when 
she  and  Mrs.  Greenaway  went  out  into  the  February  night 
and  the  falling  snow,  Lady  Carstairs  looked  at  her  nephew 
and  sighed. 

"I  do  not  like  this  Mrs.  Greenaway,"  she  said,  "she  was 
really  most  rude  about  poor  Uncle  Brabazon.  I  don't  know 
what  the  world  is  coming  to,  Otho.  Cathy  has  picked  up 
the  strangest  manner  of  talking."  She  flushed,  and  glanced 
nervously  at  Otho,  who  sat  down  at  the  table.  "I  hardly  like 
to  speak  of  it,  but  she  asked  me  just  now  if  I  loved  God." 

Otho  fiddled  with  a  wine  glass,  a  beautiful  purple  thing 
with  white  stars  cut  over  the  fine,  clear  colour  beneath. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  he  said,  and  then  he  took  out  his 
cigarette  case  and  obtained  permission  to  smoke.  "To  think 
of  Cathy  getting  bitten  by  that  kind  of  microbe.  The 
truth  is,  Aunt  Amy,  Cathy  must  marry." 

"But  she  told  me  she  will  not  marry  Twyford." 

"He  isn't  the  only  man  in  the  world." 

"Robert  Amyas  would  be  a  disaster.  Ever  since  he 
divorced  that  unfortunate  Lilian,  Cathy  has  been  sorry  for 
him,  and  he  is  often  here." 

Lady  Carstairs  fell  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  slough 
of  despond. 

"I  have  an  idea,"  Otho  remarked  after  a  moment  of 
silence,  "that  Lorrimer  is  in  love  with  Cathy." 

Lady  Carstairs  screwed  up  her  mouth;  she  was  not  en- 
thusiastic. 

"Very  bourgeois,"  she  said  in  her  cold,  un-vibrant  voice ; 
"quite  common." 

"Lots  of  money,  and  not  a  bad  sort.  I  thought  Cathy 
seemed  to  like  him.  She  was  very  enthusiastic  over  the 
great  Batten  affair." 

"Utterly  out  of  the  question."  Again,  Lady  Carstairs 
looked  as  though  she  had  taken  a  dose  of  quinine.  "If 
Cathy  was  a  poor  girl,  without  money  of  her  own,  I  might 
think  differently,  but  she  is  entirely  independent,  and  Twy- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  85 

ford  has  been  in  love  with  her  for  years.     She  is  sure  to 
marry  him." 

Otho  got  up  and  said  good  night.  He  had  put  in  a 
word  for  Colonel  Lorrimer,  and,  having  done  so,  there 
was  nothing  to  detain  him. 

Cathy  was  not  thinking  of  her  matrimonial  prospects  as 
she  and  Mrs.  Greenaway  arrived  at  the  Progress  Club  in 
Hammersmith.  She  was  warmed  and  thrilled,  despite  the 
falling  snow  and  the  difficulty  of  getting  anywhere,  and  her 
cheeks  were  flushed  with  pleasurable  anticipation.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  she  had  really  found  a  group  of  people  who  all 
held  her  own  views;  views  which  she  had  expressed  since 
she  was  sixteen,  and  for  expressing  which  she  had  more 
than  once  been  dismissed  from  her  father's  table.  She 
was  not  really  alone  in  feeling  that  the  world  was  wretch- 
edly badly  organised,  and  that  there  must  be  something 
hopelessly  wrong  in  a  place  where  some  people  owned  four 
or  five  large  houses  while  others  were  crowded  into  dirty 
tenement  dwellings.  A  world  where  a  week's  loss  of  work 
meant  starvation,  and  where  this  dread  haunted  the  huge 
majority.  There  was  no  fairness  in  the  rules  by  which 
rich  men  protected  themselves,  and  ground  the  poor,  who 
could  not  fight  even  for  the  common  decencies  and  com- 
forts of  life.  She  had  seen  her  own  class  brooding  like  a 
huge  vampire  over  the  seething  pot  below;  never  thinking 
of  the  pain  and  suffering  of  the  needy  and  over-burdened 
worker.  They  only  desired  to  play  and  to  eat  expensive 
food,  to  spend  ridiculous  sums  on  clothes,  and  to  enter- 
tain perpetually.  Through  them,  the  whole  trend  of  the 
world  was  turned  towards  display  and  away  from  sim- 
plicity. The  Court,  with  its  state  and  its  demand  for  a 
blind  trust  in  kings,  was  a  survival,  like  the  Lord  Mayor's 
Show,  but  those  of  her  own  house  were  prepared  to  bow 
with  false  reverence  and  keep  up  the  paste-board  erection 
eternally.  Not  content  with  the  imposition  of  earthly  mon- 
archs,  the  Church,  hand-in-hand  with  the  State,  established 
a  God  who  was  as  narrow-minded  and  ignorant  as  the 
most  limited  of  conventional  rulers. 


86  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Now  she  had  actually  found  that  she  had  countless  up- 
holders, and  that  a  democratic  awakening,  which  she  seemed 
to  perceive  dimly,  was  flooding  the  whole  earth,  and  Cathy 
believed  that  the  people  who  gathered  in  the  Progress  Club 
were  inspired  by  a  very  simple  faith  indeed. 

The  room  where  the  meeting  was  being  held  was  not 
very  large.  It  was,  in  fact,  two  rooms,  one  opening  off 
the  other,  and  there  was  no  formality  about  the  gathering. 
As  there  were  not  nearly  chairs  enough,  people  sat  on  the 
floor,  or  on  the  flat  tops  of  the  bookcases  round  the  walls ; 
and  they  were  all  very  young.  One  or  two  of  the  women 
obviously  came  from  Cathy's  own  class,  but  for  the  most 
part  their  origin  was  indistinct,  and  many  were  foreigners. 
One  woman,  with  a  thick,  black  plait  of  hair  down  her 
back,  was  dressed  in  a  curious  patchwork  garment,  daz- 
zling in  colour  and  futurist  of  design.  She  was  smoking 
a  short  pipe,  and  appeared  to  be  engrossed  in  Osterov's 
address,  which  was  drawing  to  a  close.  The  men  were  dis- 
tressing to  Cathy.  Why  was  it  that  no  normal  looking 
man,  decently  dressed,  ever  came  there?  A  few  were 
dandies,  but  they  got  the  wrong  suggestion,  and  wore  in- 
cipient whiskers  and  over-brilliant  ties.  Some  were  pale, 
earnest  men,  taking  life  very  seriously,  who  were  mostly 
conscientious  objectors.  Not  shirkers;  you  could  tell  that, 
but  really  and  certainly  convinced  that  they  had  been 
obliged  to  let  other  men  take  the  risks  of  war  on  their 
behalf.  One  of  them  made  a  place  for  Cathy  and  found 
her  a  chair,  which  she  shared  with  Janey  Greenaway.  If 
you  put  Cathy  into  hell,  some  man  would  immediately  be 
certain  to  find  her  a  chair  to  sit  on. 

Osterov  finished  his  speech  and  sat  down.  There  was 
no  raised  dais,  only  a  small  table  with  a  carafe  and  a  glass 
of  water  standing  on  it,  and  the  room  was  thick  with  ciga- 
rette smoke.  Just  in  front  of  where  Cathy  sat,  two  girls,  one 
who  looked  about  twenty-two,  and  the  other  possibly  a 
little  older,  were  discussing  venereal  disease.  They  seemed 
to  have  read  everything  about  it,  and  the  delicate  looking 
girl,  the  younger  of  the  two,  was  saying  that,  when  the  plea 
of  contamination  was  established  in  a  divorce  case,  the  man 


CATHY  ROSSITER  87 

or  woman  charged  with  the  offence  should  be  liable  under 
criminal  law. 

"I  have  read  all  the  N.C.C.V.D.  literature,"  the  older  girl 
said,  in  a  calm,  rather  weary  voice.  "It  is  time  that  women 
did  something  about  it.  Do  you  know  that  every  fourth 
man  in  the  British  Army  is  infected?" 

"I  should  have  put  the  figure  higher,"  the  pale  girl  replied, 
fixing  a  gold  hoop  earring  more  securely. 

She  looked  as  though  she  should  have  been  at  a  dance, 
thinking  of  the  partners  on  her  programme,  but  she  ap- 
peared to  Cathy  as  a  monster  of  terrible  wisdom;  some- 
thing like  Monica  in  her  bad  moods,  only  Monica  was  a 
doctor,  and  she  had  to  know  these  horrors. 

Silence  fell  almost  at  once,  as  Danielli  got  up  and  stood 
smiling  down  the  room.  He  was  strong,  and  his  eyes  were 
clear;  more  humorous  really  than  defiant,  and  he  was  not 
very  tall.  Near  him,  and  sitting  in  an  easy  attitude,  there 
was  another  man.  Lanky,  and  loosely  built,  with  a  narrow 
face,  fair  hair  and  deep,  smouldering  blue  eyes.  He  was 
hopelessly  untidy,  and  he  wore  his  clothes  carelessly,  yet, 
in  some  way,  he  was  quite  obviously  different  to  the  others. 

"Who  is  the  man  with  a  suggestion  of  Pan  about  him?" 
Cathy  asked  in  a  whisper. 

"Major  Barlow,"  Janey  Greenaway  answered.  "He  was 
a  soldier  once,  but  of  course  he  wouldn't  fight  in  the  war. 
You  wouldn't  guess  that  he  was  born  with  every  sort  of 
disadvantage.  Harrow,  Cambridge,  all  that  tosh.  They 
sent  him  to  prison " 

"Hush,"  said  a  voice  near  them,  and  Janey  nodded  ami- 
ably to  the  woman  with  the  black  plait  of  hair  and  the  pipe. 

Danielli  looked  down  the  room  again  and  caught  Cathy's 
eye.  He  made  no  actual  sign  of  recognition,  but  one  knew 
that  he  was  pleased  to  see  her  there. 

People  who  expected  impassioned  oratory  from  Danielli, 
and  went  to  the  Progress  Club  to  hear  him  talk  heroics,  were 
likely  to  be  disappointed.  He  did  indulge  himself  in  wild 
speeches,  but  only  when  he  had  a  suitable  audience.  The 
listeners  sitting  on  the  floor,  on  seats,  and  crowded  along 
the  walls,  were  intellectuals,  and  did  not  require  kerosene 


88  CATHY  ROSSITER 

oil  to  make  them  flame.  He  made  very  few  gestures,  and 
hardly  ever  raised  his  voice  above  his  normal  tone,  which 
was  always  sonorous  rather  than  loud,  and  he  avoided  catch 
words,  just  as  Osterov,  who  had  finished  speaking,  indulged 
freely  in  them,  and  as  Barlow,  who  spoke  later,  could  not 
open  his  mouth  without  uttering  some  well-worn  phrase, 
such  as  "the  piping  times  of  peace." 

Gradually  Cathy  felt  herself  rising  to  the  crest  of  a  wave 
of  feeling  that  swung  through  the  room,  and  she  saw  Dani- 
elli  as  the  Hebrews  of  old  saw  Moses. 

He  came  from  the  table  where  he  had  stood,  and  when 
he  had  spoken  with  one  and  another  he  made  his  way  to 
where  Cathy  and  Mrs.  Greenaway  were  sitting,  and  gave 
Cathy  his  right  and  Mrs.  Greenaway  his  left  hand,  and  pull- 
ing a  cushion  towards  him  and  sat  down  at  their  feet.  He 
seemed  to  slide  into  a  wonderfully  intimate  attitude  both  of 
body  and  mind,  and  Cathy  wondered  if  he  were  really  a 
"dark  stranger,"  like  the  star  which  any  day  might  rush  out 
of  space,  driven  upon  a  huge  celestial  adventure,  breaking  up 
the  ordered  routine  of  civilisation.  He  had  preached  a  doc- 
trine which  ended  the  world  for  those  of  her  class,  and 
she  had  listened,  knowing  that  they  were  all  to  be  destroyed. 
Danielli  was  the  "dark  stranger,"  and  already  his  attrac- 
tion was  beginning  to  drag  the  earth  from  its  old,  steady 
course.  She  looked  at  the  top  of  his  dark  head.  It  was  so 
odd,  so  bizarre,  in  a  way,  to  have  him  sitting  there,  all  but 
leaning  against  her  knee,  and  talking  now  and  then  in  his 
persuasive  voice. 

"Are  the  men  really  backing  up  the  shop  stewards  ?"  Mrs. 
Greenaway  asked,  in  her  clear,  incisive  tones. 

"You  may  always  trust  an  engineer,"  Danielli  said,  and 
he  talked  rapidly  of  skilled  time  rates,  and  the  report  of  a 
Workers'  Committee  which  had  just  come  in,  and  then  Bar- 
low got  up  and  began  to  speak. 

He  was  a  convert,  and,  like  all  converts,  was  more  ex- 
treme than  anyone  else,  and  he  began  with  the  Public 
Schools  system  and  carried  the  sword  onwards  through  the 
Universities  and  the  Services.  What  he  really  wanted  to 


CATHY  ROSSITER  89 

do  about  it  was  not  very  clear,  but  he  was  intensely  earnest, 
and  felt  that  his  own  education  had  been  no  good. 

Cathy  became  intensely  interested  at  once;  she  felt  that 
Barlow  knew  his  subject,  and  she  applauded  with  the  crowd, 
and,  once  or  twice,  entirely  on  her  own. 

"Why  don't  you  speak  yourself,  when  Barlow  has  done  ?" 
Danielli  said  in  a  whisper.  "You'd  be  splendid  on  a  plat- 
form." 

"I  should  lose  my  wits  at  once,"  she  said,  smiling  down  at 
his  raised  face;  "I'm  far  too  tangled,  I  get  everything  in  a 
mix  up." 

She  paused,  and  felt  as  though  she  had  proclaimed  her- 
self a  coward,  and  Barlow,  who  was  prepared  to  go  on 
for  any  length  of  time,  began  to  attack  the  Churches. 

"Will  you  come  and  help  us  down  in  Labury  Road?" 
Danielli  asked.  "The  men  on  the  Qth  Division  of  the  Elec- 
tricians' Association  are  out,  and  there  is  a  desperate  lot  to 
do.  We  are  trying  to  keep  the  strike  stiff,  but  we  want  help. 
Women  are  always  the  trouble,"  he  smiled  his  familiar, 
friendly  smile,  "you  always  ask  for  security.  Won't  you 
come  and  talk  to  them?" 

"When  I  get  a  passport  and  am  able  to  go  to  Berlin,  I 
shall  tell  the  German  workman  that,  in  England,  we  are 
their  brothers,  for  we  are  determined  that  the  people  shall 
rule  the  world,"  said  Barlow  violently  to  the  audience. 

"What  could  I  do?"  Cathy  bent  down,  and  the  faint 
violet  scent  she  used  floated  towards  Danielli.  "Are  they 
hungry  and  in  want  ?" 

"When  are  the  poor  anything  else?"  he  said.  "Perhaps 
if  you  saw  the  actual  conditions  you  might  become  entirely 
one  with  us." 

Cathy  hesitated.  It  was  not  that  she  had  the  smallest 
doubt  of  her  own  beliefs,  but  she  felt  suddenly  that  Lady 
Carstairs  would  be  horribly  upset.  It  was  stupid  and  ridicu- 
lous to  think  of  that  at  such  a  moment,  but  it  caused  her  to 
pause,  and  Danielli  to  look  at  her  searchingly. 

"I  don't  ask,  nor  do  any  of  us,  for  charity,"  he  said; 
"don't  fancy  that  I  meant  cheques  or  donations." 

"We  always  want  funds,"  Mrs.  Greenaway  interposed. 


9o  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Cathy  Rossiter  is  going  to  help  us  that  way  and  every 

other  way." 

Barlow  had  come  to  an  end  of  what  he  had  to  say,  and 
the  crowd  in  the  room  broke  up  into  groups,  but  Danielli 
did  not  stir.  He  wanted  to  talk  to  Cathy. 

"Labury  Road  isn't  far  away,"  he  said,  "and,  unless  you 
are  in  a  hurry  to  get  back,  we  might  go  down  there  and 
look  around  us.  What  do  you  say,  Janey  ?" 

Mrs.  Greenaway  agreed  at  once.  She  was  used  to  being 
out  and  about  at  all  hours,  and  Barlow  joined  them,  and 
immediately  said  that  he  would  come  too,  though  he  looked 
at  Cathy  distrustfully. 

"You  aren't  one  of  us,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  that  you 
ought  to  be  here  at  all.  Why  have  you  come?" 

"Don't  try  to  snub  me,  Major  Barlow,"  she  said  quickly. 
"I  am  a  human  being  just  as  much  as  you  are." 

"Come  on  then,"  he  said  authoritatively,  "and  look  at 
your  brothers  and  sisters.  I  doubt  if  you'll  care  very  much 
for  the  family  party." 

Cathy's  subsequent  recollections  of  her  visit  to  Labury 
Road  were  vivid  and  terrible.  She  saw  what  Danielli  wished 
her  to  see,  and  she  stood  to  witness  the  protest  of  people 
who  were  hungry,  cold  and  wretched.  Here  was  the  real 
England,  the  inarticulate  mass,  dark,  submerged,  and  strug- 
gling; their  hoarse  voices  crying  in  the  wilderness  of  dark 
insanitary  houses,  and  their  lives  made  ugly  and  brutal 
through  lack  of  leisure  and  lack  of  hope.  She  saw  crowds 
and  crowds  of  faces,  and  the  faces  haunted  her  imagina- 
tion. 

"This  is  not  a  very  glorious  dwelling,  is  it,  Miss  Rossiter  ?" 
Danielli  said,  as  they  stood  on  the  filthy,  broken  steps  of 
a  battered,  dreary  house.  "Yet  the  wretched  creatures  who 
are  packed  inside  it  are  deadly  afraid  of  losing  its  shelter." 

"What  can  I  do?"  Cathy  asked  desperately.  She  was 
moved  beyond  expression,  and  thought  of  her  own  luxury 
and  ease  with  something  akin  to  repulsion. 

Mrs.  Greenaway  and  Barlow  were  already  inside  the 
house,  talking  excitedly  to  a  small  group  of  men. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  91 

"They  have  lived  like  sewer  rats  for  generations,"  Dani- 
clli  went  on;  "their  one  form  of  relaxation  drink,  their 
morals  filthy,  and  their  children  meagre,  wretched  little 
parodies  of  the  children  you  meet  in  the  Park." 

Cathy  felt  in  her  bag.  There  was  no  money  in  it  except 
a  few  shillings,  and  she  moved  to  the  door  and  just  glanced 
within. 

"Don't  go  in,"  Danielli  said  firmly.  "Mrs.  Greenaway  is 
itsed  to  this  kind  of  thing ;  but  there  is  a  dead  baby  on  the 
table,  and  it  might  give  you  rather  a  shock." 

"But  why  do  they  not  put  it  somewhere  else?"  she  asked. 

"There  is  nowhere  else,"  he  said  shortly. 

"What  can  I  do?"  Cathy  asked  again,  and  she  felt  as 
though  none  of  the  wild  things  Barlow  had  said  were  ex- 
aggerated, not  if  you  went  and  looked  at  the  facts. 

"Do?"  Danielli  smiled.  He  stood  in  the  dim  shaft  of 
light  from  the  open  doorway,  and  the  noise  and  smell  that 
came  through  from  within  surrounded  him  intangibly.  A 
policeman  on  the  farther  side  of  the  street  turned  his  bull's- 
eye  lantern  upon  them,  its  wide  ray  falling  upon  Cathy 
Rossiter. 

"Emerson  wrote  a  great  deal  of  nonsense,"  he  said,  mov- 
ing a  little  so  that  Cathy  was  less  under  observation,  "but 
at  least  he  said  this.  'Have  you  leisure,  power,  property, 
friends  ?  You  shall  be  the  asylum  and  patron  of  every  new 
thought,  every  improved  opinion  which  proceeds  from  hon- 
est seeking.  The  highest  compliment  man  ever  receives 
from  heaven  is  the  sending  to  him  its  disguised  and  dis- 
credited angels.'  These  are  the  angels,"  he  pointed  to  the 
gaunt  house,  "well  disguised  and  finely  discredited  by  the 
respectable.  There  is  no  other  advice  I  can  give  you." 

The  policeman  crossed  the  street  and  spoke  to  Danielli. 
He  appeared  to  know  him  well  and  to  like  him,  and  then  he 
asked  Cathy  who  she  was,  and  noted  her  address  with 
obvious  astonishment. 

"They  are  in  a  bad  way,"  he  remarked  as  he  moved  off; 
"the  Government  will  break  the  back  of  this  strike." 

"Will  you  take  this?"  Cathy  seized  upon  the  brooch  at 


92  CATHY  ROSSITER 

her  neck.    "I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  give  it  you,  but 
it's  very  valuable,  and  I  have  nothing  else.  .  .  ." 

He  took  it  without  enthusiasm,  and  said  that  he  would 
see  that  the  proceeds  of  its  sale  should  go  towards  helping 
the  children;  and  then  Janey  and  Barlow  joined  them,  and 
Barlow  talked  furiously  as  they  walked  through  the  slush 
and  snow  of  Labury  Road. 

Cathy  had  tasted  reality,  and  it  stunned  her  senses;  as 
she  made  her  way  home  she  could  think  of  nothing  else. 
She  parted  from  Danielli  and  Barlow  at  the  Tube  Station, 
and  Janey  went  back  to  the  Progress  Club,  because  she  was 
always  more  than  usually  active  at  night. 

Her  nerves  were  tingling  and  she  was  raised  to  a  pitch  of 
wild  enthusiasm  as  she  opened  the  door  with  her  latchkey. 
It  was  long  after  midnight,  and  everyone  would  be  in  bed. 
To  her  surprise,  she  saw,  when  she  came  in,  that  the  light 
in  the  smoking-room  was  still  turned  on,  and  she  closed  the 
entrance  door  softly  and  walked  across  the  hall.  If  some 
one  died  in  this  spacious  house,  there  would  be  place  and 
decency  for  death,  she  thought,  and  she  pushed  the  door 
open,  thinking  that  Rayner,  the  butler,  must  have  forgotten 
to  extinguish  all  the  lights. 

The  fire  had  died  down,  but  the  room  was  warm,  and  the 
soft,  thick  carpet  made  her  coming  quite  noiseless.  At  first 
Cathy  thought  that  the  room  was  empty,  but,  when  she  came 
round  the  screen,  she  saw  that  there  was  a  visitor,  lying 
asleep  on  the  sofa,  and  she  recognised  with  a  start  that  it 
was  Robert  Amyas. 

The  humour  of  the  situation  struck  her,  relieving  a  little 
of  the  ugly  tension  of  her  mind,  and  she  came  towards  him, 
intending  to  awaken  him  with  a  start.  Really  Robert  was 
growing  very  casual,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  and  he  deserved 
to  be  frightened.  But,  when  she  touched  his  shoulder,  he 
did  not  stir,  and  for  a  moment  a  feeling  of  fear  overtook 
her.  She  had  tasted  reality,  and  reality  can  be  a  thing  of 
dread.  For  one  second,  she  thought  that  she  had  returned 
to  find  Robert  dead  in  Lady  Carstairs'  comfortable  smok- 
ing-room. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  93 

He  stirred  uneasily  but  did  not  wake,  and  Cathy  shook 
him  violently.  "Robert,"  she  said,  "don't  be  aggravating. 
Wake  up  at  once." 

Having  tried  every  conceivable  method  by  which  she  could 
recall  him  to  his  senses,  Cathy  gave  it  up  as  hopeless,  and 
sat  down,  looking  at  his  thin,  petulant  face  and  his  open 
mouth.  She  thought  it  was  possible  that  Robert  was  drunk, 
and  the  idea  shocked  her,  but  she  also  felt  it  to  be  more 
likely  that  he  was  drugged,  and  that  did  not  seem  so  bad; 
though  why,  when  it  was  certainly  very  much  the  more 
pernicious  habit  of  the  two,  Cathy  could  not  have  explained. 
Perhaps  if  he  knew  that  he  snored  when  he  drugged  him- 
self, he  would  relinquish  the  habit,  she  thought,  as  she 
watched  him. 

Just  a  little  way  away  from  him  lay  the  Hammersmith 
slum,  where  people  laid  out  their  dead  on  the  same  table 
at  which  they  ate  their  meals ;  and  Robert,  surfeited  with  the 
gifts  of  life,  was  driven  to  a  chemist's  shop  to  find  another 
sensation  for  his  feeble  days.  Cathy  felt  a  sudden  rage  of 
anger  sweep  over  her  like  a  storm.  Robert  had  been  abus- 
ing Danielli  only  the  day  before;  throwing  cheap  jibes  at 
him  and  calling  him  a  pro-German  agitator.  She  bent  down, 
and,  setting  her  teeth,  she  took  Amyas  by  the  shoulders  and 
shook  him,  and  she  saw  Robert's  eyes  open,  and  he  stared 
up  at  her,  blindly  at  first,  and  then  with  slowly  recovered 
recognition. 

"Cathy,"  he  said,  sitting  up,  his  hair  disordered  and  his 
coat  collar  pulled  up  around  his  neck,  for  Cathy  had  not 
been  gentle. 

To  allow  oneself  the  physical  satisfaction  of  an  act  which 
came  close  to  chastisement,  was  rather  overwhelming  once 
it  was  done,  and  she  regarded  him  a  little  awkwardly. 

"I've  been  asleep,"  he  said  in  a  dull  voice.  "I  said  I'd 
sit  up  and  wait  for  you.  I  must  have  fallen  asleep." 

His  hands  were  hanging  limply  between  his  knees,  and 
he  shivered  as  though  he  felt  very  cold. 

"Asleep,"  Cathy's  voice  was  full  of  scorn.  "You  were 
drugged.  It's  no  use  lying  to  me,  Robert." 

Amyas  made  no  reply  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  ad- 


94  CATHY  ROSSITER 

justed  his  coat  collar  and  tie,  and  smoothed  his  hair  with 
his  hands. 

"Don't  be  so  down  on  me,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  her,  his 
pierrot  face  drawn  and  white,  and  his  eyes  dark  with  a 
bruised  look  around  the  lids.  "I  can't  sleep  naturally.  .  .  . 
It  hardly  matters  what  I  do." 

Cathy  drew  herself  up,  she  was  still  on  fire  from  her  re- 
cent experiences. 

"Have  you  nothing  better  to  do?"  she  asked.  "Is  the 
world  made  just  for  your  pleasure  ?  Oh,  Robert,  you  sicken 
me ;  you  call  yourself  a  man,  I  suppose,  and  you  live  like  a 
parasite." 

"Don't  be  cruel,"  he  said,  and  he  got  up  and  stood 
wretchedly  looking  at  her.  "I've  gone  through  a  bad  time." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  cruel,"  she  retorted,  and  then  she 
felt  that,  after  all,  she  was  talking  to  Robert,  and  Robert 
was  only  a  nebulous  fiction  of  a  creature,  so  she  softened 
a  little. 

"If  you  could  have  seen  yourself — if  you  could  have  heard 
yourself  snore!" 

He  laughed  quite  suddenly,  almost  a  boyish  laugh,  and  he 
held  out  his  hands. 

"I'll  do  penance,  Cathy,  I  really  will.  I'd  like  to  make 
you  think  better  of  me.  You've  been  drinking,  yourself — 
words,  of  course,  but  that's  as  bad  as  anything  else.  I'll  go 
now,  only  do  let  me  do  something  that  will  please  you." 

"You  made  me  shake  you,"  she  said  obstinately.  "I 
have  to  forgive  you  for  that  as  well." 

"I'll  go  to  one  of  your  meetings;  I'll  join  the  Salvation 
Army,  I'll  be  earnest  and  mean  all  I  say.  Come,  Cathy,  be 
a  Christian ;  you  ought  to  live  up  to  your  principles." 

He  pressed  his  hands  to  his  forehead  and  looked  around 
him  as  though  his  dreams  still  called  him  back,  behind  the 
curtains  of  sleep. 

"Good  night,"  she  said,  shortly.  "I  suppose  you  can  let 
yourself  out?" 

Amyas  pulled  on  his  overcoat,  which  was  lying  on  a  chair, 
and  held  open  the  door  to  let  her  pass. 

"But  you  will  forgive  me  ?"  he  asked. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  95 

Cathy  stood  in  the  hall  considering.  After  all,  her  for- 
giveness meant  very  little,  as  she  saw  it,  and  she  pondered 
for  a  time  before  she  replied. 

"I  can  forgive  you,"  she  said  slowly.  "But  some  day, 
you  may  find  it  quite  impossible  to  forgive  yourself." 

"Myself?"  he  repeated  the  word.  "Oh,  I'm  used  to 
myself." 


CHAPTER  IX 

COUSIN  OTHO  was  in  a  state  of  astonishment  and  dismay. 
He  was  an  extremely  kind-hearted,  well-meaning  young 
man,  and  he  had  a  strong  sense  of  family  ties.  Cathy  was 
beautiful,  gracious,  and  now  she  was  causing  him  acute 
distress.  He  did  not  mind  what  people  said;  a  talker  is 
always  a  talker;  Cathy  had  talked  for  years  and  done  very 
little.  If  it  pleased  her  to  say  all  kinds  of  wild  things  it 
did  no  real  harm.  Now,  Cathy  had  gone  further.  "God  be 
with  the  old  days,"  Otho  said  in  his  heart,  when  he  re- 
membered how  deeply  they  had  all  disapproved  of  Cathy's 
affection  for  Monica  Henstock.  Monica,  who  had  done 
ten  days  in  Holloway.  What  would  they  all  not  give  now, 
to  feel  that  Monica  could  still  exercise  an  influence.  But 
Danielli  came  from  nowhere,  and  that  was  against  him.  He 
was  a  wild  man,  with  nothing  to  lose  by  his  wretched  cru- 
sade against  Capital;  Barlow,  on  the  other  hand,  was  de- 
cently connected,  and  disgraced  not  only  his  household  but 
his  school  and  his  whole  training.  It  was  kinder  to  sup- 
pose that  the  man  was  mad.  Then  there  was  Janey  Green- 
away.  .  .  .  Otho  could  hardly  find  polite  words  in  which 
to  express  his  sentiments  towards  her.  She  was  a  female 
hooligan,  and  her  codes,  moral  and  political,  were  simply 
disastrous.  What  did  matter,  and  what  continued  to  mat- 
ter, was  Danielli's  wretched  influence,  and  the  haunting  fear 
that  Danielli  might  really  intend  to  marry  Cathy  Rossiter. 

It  behoved  the  whole  family  to  make  a  desperate  effort, 
and  yet,  to  permit  any  sign  of  desperation  to  appear  would 
be  fatal.  In  her  distress  of  mind,  Lady  Carstairs  had  said 
that  "even  Robert  Amyas  would  be  better.  Robert  is  at 
least  a  gentleman  and  not  a  strike  leader." 

Otho's  friendship  with  Lorrimer  had  prospered,  until  at 
last  it  came  to  a  stage  when  they  both  believed  in  it;  and 

96 


CATHY  ROSSITER  97 

very  often  Cousin  Otho  made  his  way  to  the  flat,  inwardly 
criticising  Monica's  barbarous  taste,  and  spoke  of  subjects 
close  to  his  heart.  Lorrimer  was  not  as  easily  available  as 
he  had  once  been,  for  Stockton  had  become  a  pivot  in  his 
life,  and  the  Kingslade  election  was  soon  to  take  place. 
Lorrimer  was  chosen  by  the  Progressive  Party  as  their 
nominee,  and,  what  with  the  business  of  getting  Kingslade 
Park  into  order,  and  making  friends  in  his  future  constitu- 
ency, Colonel  Lorrimer  was  no  longer  at  a  loose  end.  But 
in  all  this  Otho  had  been  of  invaluable  service  to  him. 

He  walked  into  Lorrimer's  dining-room  in  the  flat  one 
bright  spring  morning,  when  the  trees  were  in  bud  and  the 
earth  was  warm  under  a  strong  April  sun.  The  dining- 
room  was  dark,  and  always  looked  cold  in  spite  of  its  red 
walls,  and  Lorrimer  was  sitting  at  his  breakfast  table,  glanc- 
ing through  letters,  and  looking  rather  dull  and  heavy.  He 
was  getting  what  he  wanted — almost  everything  he  wanted, 
but  he  was  neither  settled  nor  happy.  He  had  seen  very 
little  of  Cathy  during  the  past  month,  and  yet  he  could  not 
stop  thinking  of  her.  Kingslade  Park  literally  cried  aloud 
for  her,  and  she  and  no  other  was  the  fitting  mistress  for 
the  beautiful  old  house.  But  how  did  one  capture  Cathy? 
Take  out  a  butterfly  net  and  rush  madly  after  her  as  she 
sailed  away  on  her  gauzy  wings?  Sing  under  her  window 
o'  nights  like  a  troubadour?  He  caught  sight  of  his  face 
in  a  glass  that  hung  on  the  wall  opposite  io  where  he  sat, 
and  noticed  that  he  looked  older.  He  was  growing  heavy- 
looking,  and  his  hair  was  turning  a  little  grey.  When  he 
shaved  in  the  morning — an  ugly  time  with  Lorrimer — the 
stubble  on  his  chin  was  no  longer  mouse  brown  to  match 
his  hair. 

Otho's  arrival  made  a  pleasant  break.  Lorrimer  always 
felt  better  when  he  had  seen  Otho.  He  had  begun  by  buy- 
ing him  with  dinners  and  the  use  of  one  of  his  cars,  and  in 
the  end  Otho  really  liked  Lorrimer.  If  this  was  so  with 
Otho,  why  should  not  Cathy  learn  that  there  was  something 
kind  and  fond,  something  protective  and  benignant  in  the 
heart  and  soul  of  Jack  Lorrimer? 

Otho  had  already  breakfasted,  but  he  was  willing  to  drink 


98  CATHY  ROSSITER 

a  cup  of  hot  coffee ;  he  considered  that  the  coffee  was  good, 
and  after  a  time  he  began  to  unpack  his  troubles. 

"It's  getting  dam'  serious  about  Cathy,"  he  said,  and 
Lorrimer  appreciated  the  compliment.  Otho  would  not  dis- 
cuss Cathy  with  anyone  except  a  close  and  trusted  friend. 

"Why?"  he  asked  laconically. 

"Well,  there's  this  wretched  fellow,  Danielli.  I've  told 
you  before  that  I  thought  the  swine  ought  to  be  shot,  but 
now  it's  all  going  beyond  everything.  She  is  leaving  Caven- 
dish Square." 

"No!" 

Lorrimer's  flat  denial  of  such  a  possibility  was  wrung 
from  him  in  utter  dismay. 

"But  it's  yes,"  Otto  said  grimly.  "I  was  there  last  night 
— went  to  see  Aunt  Amy,  she  rang  me  up,  poor  old  dear, 
she  is  in  an  awful  state.  To  begin  with,  Cathy  gave  this 
sweep  a  brooch  which  is  an  heirloom ;  the  trustees  may  kick 
tip  the  hell  of  a  row,  and  Cathy  actually  can't  be  got  to 
think  of  it  seriously." 

"She  gave  him  an  heirloom?"  Lorrimer's  face  expressed 
the  greatest  concern,  and  he  pushed  away  his  plate  and 
stared  out  of  the  window  angrily. 

"Precisely."  Otho  tapped  his  fingers  noiselessly  on  the 
table-cloth.  "We  don't  want  it  to  be  known  about.  Eliza- 
beth is  the  loser,  and,  as  she  says  she  doesn't  care  a  flitter, 
and  that  Cathy  can  do  as  she  likes,  it  will  be  tided  over. 
It's  not  so  much  the  beastly  brooch  that  has  made  us  all 
very  anxious,  it's  the  hopeless  attitude  of  Cathy  herself." 

"What  is  her  attitude?"  Lorrimer  asked,  pushing  two 
fingers  inside  his  collar,  as  though  it  had  suddenly  become 
very  tight. 

"She  won't  hear  the  smallest  criticism  of  the  man,  and 
she  says  she  is  tired  of  having  done  nothing  but  talk." 

Otho  leaned  forward  and  spoke  again,  adding  weight  to 
his  words  by  swaying  his  forefinger  in  the  air. 

"Danielli  is  engineering  a  big  general  strike,  and  he  has 
discovered  that  Cathy  has  persuasive  qualities." 

"Damn  his  skin."  Lorrimer  got  up  and  began  to  pace  the 
floor  restlessly. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  99 

"He  has  induced  her  to  agree  to  go  and  stay  in  Mrs. 
Greenaway's  flat  in  Hammersmith,  and  perhaps  you  don't 
realise  what  kind  of  woman  'Janey'  really  is?" 

"I've  heard  Miss  Rossiter  talk  of  her." 

"It's  common  report  that  she  is  Barlow's  mistress — one 
of  them,  I  ought  to  say,  for  he  has  several,  and  it's  hardly 
the  place  for  Cathy.  This  Greenaway  woman  works  up  the 
wives  and  the  female  population,  and  gets  them  to  back 
their  men." 

Lorrimer  stood  and  looked  at  Otho,  frowning  and  irri- 
tated. 

"Does  she  know  of  this  business  between  Barlow  and  her 
friend?" 

Otho  stirred  his  coffee  and  nodded. 

"Oh,  yes,  Janey,  whatever  her  other  faults  may  be,  is 
quite  honest;  and  Cathy  accepted  the  situation.  When  I 
spoke  to  her,  as  best  I  could,  she  only  reminded  me  that  she 
and  Aunt  Amy  were  dining  that  night  with  Veronica  Damer, 
and  that  there  was  no  real  difference  between  Veronica  and 
Hubert  Ogilvie,  and  Barlow  and  Janey,  except  that  Veronica 
and  Hubert  told  lies  and  the  others  did  not.  You  can't  get 
her  to  see  things  sensibly.  She  retorts  at  once  out  of  the 
Bible  or  throws  a  Society  scandal  at  you.  .  .  ." 

He  made  a  desperate  gesture  with  his  hands. 

"And  they  have  worked  on  her  feelings  and  induced  her 
to  go  and  help  them?  Itrs  simply  damnable  and  ought  to 
be  stopped." 

"Oh,  'ought  to  be  stopped,'  of  course  it  ought.  But  who 
is  to  stop  it  ?"  Otho's  voice  was  irritable  and  cross.  "Twy- 
ford  is  away,  though  I  believe  that  Aunt  Amy  has  written 
to  him,  and  even  if  he  were  here  I  don't  fancy  he  could  do 
much." 

There  was  a  silence  between  the  two  men,  and  Lorrimer 
lighted  a  cigar.  He  was  wondering  if  he  could  venture  to 
suggest  that  he  might  make  an  attempt  on  his  own  account. 

"If  she  goes  there,  it's  always  possible,"  Otho  went  on, 
"that  Danielli  may  persuade  her  to  live  with  him.  Shock- 
ing, of  course,"  he  looked  at  Lorrimer's  horrified  face,  "but 
they  discount  matrimonial  relationships.  Until  the  divorce 


ioo  CATHY  ROSSITER 

laws  are  made  equal,  and  taxation  separate,  they  won't  any 
of  them  marry,  so  I'm  told,  and  I  suppose  that  Danielli 
would  keep  to  his  principles.  The  danger  is  that  he  hypno- 
tises the  girl." 

"But  it  must  be  prevented."  Lorrimer  could  think  of 
nothing  else  to  say. 

"Agreed,  man,  agreed."  Otho  was  losing  his  temper  a 
little.  "But  how?  Is  there  any  argument  you  can  think 
of  that  is  likely  to  be  of  use?  If  there  is,  for  God's  sake, 
come  and  argue.  She  doesn't  go  until  to-morrow." 

"Certainly  I  will  try,"  Lorrimer  said  slowly.  He  was 
perfectly  sure  that  Gathy  ought  to  be  rescued  out  of  her 
madness,  but  he  was  far  from  certain  that  he  knew  what  to 
say. 

"One  great  point  in  your  favour,"  Otho  said,  having 
thought  for  a  minute,  "is  that  she  doesn't  suspect  you.  I'll 
be  quite  frank,  Lorrimer,  so  that  you  may  know  how  you 
stand.  You  see "  he  paused  a  little  awkwardly. 

"Go  on,"  Lorrimer  said  bluntly;  "don't  be  in  the  least 
squeamish  about  my  feelings,  if  that's  the  trouble." 

"Well,  Aunt  Amy  likes  you  very  much,  but  she  is  one  of 
that  ridiculous  group  called  'the  old  school.'  She  places  a 
lot  of  weight  upon  having  known  people's  grandfathers.  As 
she  didn't  happen  to  have  heard  of  yours,  she  regards  you 
rather  as  a  mushroom.  You  represent  the  pushful,  suc- 
cessful man  from  nowhere.  .  .  .  You're  sure  you  don't 
mind?" 

Lorrimer  was  conscious  of  a  cold  intensity  of  dislike 
towards  Lady  Carstairs  welling  up  in  his  heart,  but  he  as- 
sured Otho  that  he  was  not  in  the  least  ruffled  by  what  he 
said. 

"All  this  is  hugely  in  your  favour  with  Cathy.  She  can't 
accuse  you  of  belonging  to  the  ring,  and  being  one  of  the 
people  who  forgive  everything  that  happens  in  their  own 
set — the  idle,  greedy  rich.  Cathy  scraps  the  Progressive 
Party,  it's  true,  because  of  Danielli,  who  loathes  them,  but 
at  heart  she  believes  altogether  in  you." 

Lorrimer  sat  down  and  looked  a  little  less  affronted  in 
his  dignity. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  101 

"Does  she,"  he  looked  away  from  Otho,  "does  she  like 
the  brute?  I  mean,  do  you  really  fancy  that  she  is  going 
to  give  herself  away  over  him  ?" 

Otho  got  up  and  began  to  look  at  the  sporting  prints  of 
the  moonlight  riders  which  Monica  had  caused  to  be  hung 
around  the  walls. 

"How  can  one  know  what  a  woman  thinks?  Cathy  has 
never  loved  anyone.  She  loves  everybody.  She  thinks 
Danielli  is  a  kind  of  prophet ;  he  influences  her,  and  it  may 
lead  on  to  surrender." 

Colonel  Lorrimer  coughed,  and  sat  back  in  his  chair.  He 
had  leapt  to  a  sudden  resolve,  so  wild  and  so  tremendous 
that  it  staggered  him  by  its  weight.  He  would  fight  Danielli, 
the  strike  leader,  and  he  intended  to  use  any  means  which 
lay  at  his  disposal  to  conquer  him.  The  main  thing  was  to 
save  Cathy  before  her  reputation  suffered,  and  to  do  this 
there  was  a  struggle  ahead  of  him.  He  rubbed  his  hands 
together,  for  they  were  cold,  and  he  glanced  at  the  letters 
on  the  table. 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  ring  of  as- 
surance in  his  voice.  "All  Miss  Rossiter  wants  is  to  be 
actively  interested  in  living  reforms." 

Otho  laughed  and  got  up  to  go.  He  was  amused,  and 
he  took  no  trouble  to  hide  his  amusement. 

"Don't  try  any  electioneering  touch  with  Cathy,"  he  said 
warningly.  "She  has  a  most  unfortunate  sense  of  humour, 
even  though  she  is  able  to  swallow  Danielli  and  all  his  gods." 
He  took  up  his  hat  which  he  had  thrown  on  a  chair.  "Where 
is  Dr.  Henstock?  She  might  be  able  to  innoculate  Cathy 
with  something  that  would  kill  the  germ.  I  don't  think  they 
meet  very  often  now." 

"Dr.  Henstock  is  fearfully  overworked,"  Lorrimer  said 
guardedly;  "she  would,  I  know,  do  anything  in  the  world 
for  Miss  Rossiter." 

"When  they  hadn't  the  vote,  it  kept  them  amused,"  Otho 
said,  from  the  door.  "What  a  pity  they  ever  got  it." 

Lorrimer  laughed,  his  throaty  laugh,  and  agreed.  Women 
should  be  kept  in  their  right  place,  and  their  right  place  was 


102  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"the  home."    He  decided  to  go  and  see  Cathy  late  that  after- 
noon, and  his  nerves  tingled  at  the  prospect. 

Cathy  had  had  a  visit  from  Lilian  Hinton,  and  as  she  was 
now  married  to  Anthony,  Lady  Carstairs  made  no  formal 
objection  to  her  coming  to  the  house.  She  said  that  "by- 
gones should  be  bygones,"  and  even  greeted  Lilian  almost 
as  though  nothing  very  unusual  had  happened  since  they 
last  met.  When  the  divorce  proceedings  were  pending  she 
had  refused  to  know  her.  At  the  time  when  her  adherence 
might  possibly  have  been  of  some  help  to  Lilian,  she  had 
turned  away  her  face,  and  only  when  the  second  marriage 
was  an  accomplished  fact  could  she  be  brought  to  mention 
her  name;  but  when  they  met,  Lilian  having  come  to  see 
Cathy,  Lady  Carstairs  accepted  her  with  a  kind  of  subtle 
lowering  of  the  temperature;  not  enough  to  induce  a  wintry 
frost,  but  sufficient  to  make  itself  felt. 

During  tea  Lady  Carstairs  had  remained  present,  and 
when  Lilian,  who  was  looking  unusually  striking,  began  to 
ask  Cathy  what  her  plans  were,  she  knew  at  once  that  Lady 
Carstairs  was  metaphorically  on  the  rack. 

"My  plans  ?"  Cathy  leaned  back,  and  reviewed  the  room 
with  a  slow  smile.  "I  feel  that  it's  rather  hard  on  Aunt 
Amy,  Lil,  but  you  must  know,  I  suppose?" 

Lilian  glanced  at  Aunt  Amy's  face.  It  was  perfectly 
composed,  but  there  was  ice  in  it;  and,  laughing  inwardly, 
she  shook  her  head,  and  said  that  she  was  not  going  to  let 
Cathy  off. 

"I  am  going  to  live  in  Engine  Road,  Hammersmith," 
Cathy  said. 

"Hammersmith?"  Lilian  said  the  word  incredulously, 
and  Lady  Carstairs  only  raised  her  eyebrows  slightly. 

"A  friend  of  mine,  Janey  Greenaway,  has  a  flat  there. 
You  must  meet  Janey,  Lil,  she  is  a  gorgeous  person." 

"A  little  more  tea,  Lilian  ?"  Lady  Carstairs  asked  politely, 
and  Lilian  accepted  this  peace  offering.  It  was  the  first 
time  Aunt  Amy  had  called  her  by  her  Christian  name,  until 
then. 

"Well,  go  on,   Cath.     A   woman   called  Janey   Green- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  103 

away "  She  broke  off.  "Not  the  rather  celebrated 

Mrs.  Greenaway,  'The  People's  Jane'?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  very  one,"  Cathy  was  full  of  animation 
at  once.  "Some  wretched  journalist  called  her  that,  and, 
instead  of  being  angry,  she  took  it  on,  and  signs  it  to  all  her 
letters  to  the  Press.  I  love  the  way  Janey  gets  back  on  her 
adversaries." 

Lilian  was  looking  at  Cathy  with  sudden  attention.  Her 
smile  had  died  out  and  her  eyes  were  serious ;  a  change 
had  made  itself  evident  in  her  manner,  and  she  spoke  at 
once. 

"Oh,  Cath'y,  not  that  crowd.  I  have  heard  all  sorts  of 
things  about  them.  Anthony  had  to  come  in  contact  with 
Danielli  over  some  big  contract  for  his  works,  which  couldn't 
be  carried  through,  and  couldn't  be  shipped,  and  was  hope- 
lessly hung  up  through  the  man.  Anthony  said  that  there 
was  literally  nothing  bad  enough  for  him.  He  is  a  paid 
agitator." 

Lady  Carstairs  thawed  suddenly,  for  she  had  found  an 
ally  where  she  least  expected  it. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  all  this,"  she  said,  "and  am 
glad  to  think  that  your  husband  agrees  with  me." 

"But,  Lil,"  Cathy  said  quickly,  "you  don't  know  the  con- 
ditions. If  you  will  come  down  with  me  and  see  the  state 
of  affairs  along  Labury  Road,  you  will  change  all  those 
views.  I  have  been  working  down  there,  trying  to  help 
the  women  and  children." 

"Working  at  what?"  Lilian  asked.  "Not  helping  them 
to  stand  out  over  this  ridiculous  demand  for  a  six-hour  day  ? 
Cathy,  don't  be  so  blind.  Anthony  is  one  of  the  most  lib- 
eral employers  in  the  Protectorate,  and  he  is  starting  works 
over  here  now;  but  he  says  that,  on  the  conditions  which 
Danielli  demands,  there  would  be  no  profits  and  no  earthly 
security.  All  that  will  be  done  is,  that  the  workmen  will  be 
left,  a  hopeless  rabble  of  unemployed,  with  half  the  facto- 
ries in  England  closed  down  for  good." 

"But  look  at  what  they  had,"  Cathy  flushed  slightly; 
"they  were  living  on  a  starvation  wage,  they  were  housed 
worse  than  pigs,  for  you  must  house  pigs  decently,  and  the 


io4  CATHY  ROSSITER 

owners  are  able  to  live  in  comfort,  and  can  'loll,'  as  dear  old 
Granny  used  to  say." 

Cathy  was  obviously  hurt  and  disappointed  by  the  atti- 
tude of  her  friend.  Lilian  had  dared  the  conventions 
grandly,  but  she  was  wonderfully  narrow  when  it  came  to 
a  question  of  strikes. 

Lady  Carstairs  got  up ;  she  had  feared  that  Lilian's  visit 
would  only  turn  out  to  be  a  further  disaster,  for  she  felt 
that  Lilian,  having  come  out  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  Di- 
vorce Courts,  as  it  were,  would  certainly  be  a  red  Republi- 
can, anxious  to  see  the  Constitution  overthrown,  and  an 
open  admirer  of  Danielli,  who  had  such  deplorable  views 
upon  marriage.  Now  it  seemed  that,  whatever  her  faults 
might  be,  Lilian  was  to  be  trusted,  and  even  Anthony,  her 
partner  in  crime,  held  all  the  right  views.  They  were  mar- 
ried, and  Robert  was,  after  all,  rather  an  unsatisfactory 
husband  .  .  .  perhaps  she  had  been  a  little  over-strict, 
though  she  could  not  abate  a  jot  of  her  conviction  that  Lil- 
ian should  have  remained  with  Robert.  All  these  thoughts 
floated  through  her  mind,  as  she  explained  that  she  had  to 
attend  a  meeting  of  Church  workers. 

"We  are  out  of  the  fashion,"  she  said,  "and  I  know  that 
none  of  Cathy's  friends  approve  of  us,  but  I  dare  say  we 
shall  still  survive,  even  after  the  revolution." 

She  kissed  Lilian  quite  affectionately,  and  asked  her  to 
come  again,  adding,  with  a  sigh  of  mental  effort,  that  she 
must  bring  Mr.  Hinton. 

"Dear  Aunt  Amy,  she  is  so  cross  just  now,"  Cathy  said 
when  the  door  had  closed.  "After  all,  Lil,  you  also  do  not 
approve,  but  what  in  the  world  do  you  take  exception  to? 
If  I  said  I  was  going  to  New  York,  no  one  would  be  even 
surprised,  so  it's  not  the  fact  of  my  going  away  for  a  month. 
If  I  said  I  wanted  to  become  a  Grey  Lady,  and  undertake 
good  works  in  the  slums,  you  might  be  astonished,  but  you 
couldn't  object.  I  am  not  going  to  spout  on  a  platform,  I'm 
not  going  to  scrub  floors ;  I'm  merely  going  to  do  odd  jobs, 
and  see  where  I  can  be  of  real  use  to  a  whole  lot  of  tragic 
people  who  are  putting  up  a  splendid  fight.  Even  if  you 
don't  agree  with  them,  you  might  admit  that  much." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  105 

Lilian  considered  her  reply;  she  was  perfectly  sure  of 
what  she  felt  and  thought. 

"I  don't  like  common  people  out  of  their  place,"  she  said 
firmly.  "The  People's  Jane  is  a  vulgarian,  and  she  can't 
help  jarring  on  you.  Then  there  is  the  story  about  her  and 
Barlow.  Don't  fancy  that  I  am  sitting  up  and  judging  her, 
but  it's  rather  squalid." 

"Because  they  live  in  Hammersmith?" 

"Yes,  I  expect  that  adds  to  it.  Danielli  is  not  to  be 
trusted,  and  you,  Cath,  you  to  be  in  the  thick  of  that  group. 
Do  show  some  sense  of  the  general  fitness  of  things." 

Cathy  got  up  and  walked  to  the  fire  and  stood,  leaning 
her  arm  on  the  mantelpiece,  looking  down  at  the  blaze. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  little  all  you  say  affects  me,"  she 
replied.  "Perhaps  you  remember  how  little  you  cared  your- 
self for  what  people  said  when  you  went  out  to  war.  In 
my  case  the  question  isn't  personal,  it  merely  arises 
through  the  fact  that  I  hold  unpopular  views.  You  have 
never  seen  Danielli,  never  spoken  to  Janey,  and  it's  so  unlike 
you  to  be  unjust." 

Lilian  looked  down,  and  again  her  distress  became  evi- 
dent. 

"I  so  hate  to  think  of  you  exiled  like  that.  It's  a  class 
war,  Cathy,  and  you  belong  to  us.  Even  the  people  you 
befriend  won't  understand  you,  and  they  will  turn  against 
you." 

"If  one  were  to  mind  what  people  said,  one  wouldn't  get 
up  in  the  morning,"  Cathy  said  impatiently.  "Surely,  Lil, 
you  of  all  people " 

"Oh,  I  know  I'm  disappointing  you,  I  know  you  think 
me  a  Pharisee,  because  I  criticise  the  Greenaway  menage. 
Cathy,  you  are  taking  a  step  which  is  positively  dangerous." 

Cathy  made  a  hopeless  gesture  with  her  hands. 

"Anyone  else  to  say  these  things — but  you,  Lil.  I  can't 
believe  my  ears." 

Lilian  got  up  and  put  her  arm  through  Cathy's. 

"I  know  that  you  think  me  a  broken  reed,"  she  said  gently, 
"but,  Cath,  I  only  broke  a  social  convention.  You  are  out 


io6  CATHY  ROSSITER 

to  join  in  with  people  who  have  nothing  to  do  with  your 
life,  and  besides,  this  Danielli  is  such  a  cad." 

Cathy  swept  round  suddenly  and  looked  at  her  friend. 

"What  are  you  afraid  of  ?"  she  asked.  "That  I  shall  live 
with  Danielli  ?  Affront  my  little  world  to  screaming  point  ?" 

She  held  Lilian's  hands  in  hers,  and  they  looked  very 
steadfastly  in  each  other's  eyes,  trying  to  read  into  the  hid- 
den thoughts  behind  their  silence ;  and  it  was  upon  this  pic- 
ture that  Twyford  looked,  as  he  opened  the  door,  standing 
watching  the  two  women. 

Twyford  was  up  from  the  country,  and  had  come  in  a 
hurry.  He  was  wearing  a  disgraceful  old  shooting  coat 
which  had  gone  at  the  elbows,  and  he  brought  in  with  him 
a  feeling  of  forgotten  things.  He  was  pleased  to  see  Lilian, 
and  had  been  her  faithful  friend  when  winds  were  contrary. 
No  one  dared  to  discuss  his  friends  with  him,  and  this  in 
itself  is  a  high  compliment. 

Lilian  turned  to  Twyford.  She  felt  that  there  was  some- 
thing hopeful  in  his  arrival  and  that  she  could  leave  with  a 
feeling  of  satisfaction.  One  always  came  back  to  Twyford, 
insensibly,  partly  because  he  never  changed. 

He  saw  her  to  the  door,  and  when  he  went  back  to  the 
drawing-room  Twyford  found  Cathy  sitting  on  the  white 
rug  in  front  of  the  fire,  for,  though  it  was  April,  the  weather 
was  cold  and  unforgiving.  The  room  was  full  of  flowers, 
and  the  faint  scent  of  mimosa  floated  in  the  air  like  a  beau- 
tiful thought. 

She  was  looking  a  little  depressed  and  did  not  smile  at 
him. 

"I  suppose,  as  you've  come  in  that  disgraceful  old  coat, 
that  Aunt  Amy  sent  you  an  S.O.S.,  and  you  are  here  to  pre- 
vent my  going  to  Hammersmith,  if  you  can."  Twyford 
was  one  of  the  only  people  towards  whom  Cathy  was  fre- 
quently irritable  and  unreasonable.  "You  are  all  making 
such  a  ridiculous  fuss.  Why,  when  Lilian  decided  to  go  o'ff 
with  Anthony,  there  was  hardly  more  chatter." 

"Anyhow,  I  didn't  chatter,"  he  sat  down  near  her ;  "give 
me  credit  for  that.  I  never  believe  in  interference,  and  I'm 
only  here  to  find  out  why  you  want  to  go." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  107 

"Because  I  want  to  do  something  worth  while." 

"And  it's  got  to  be  done  down  in  Labury  Road?  Isn't 
there  anywhere  else,  Cathy?" 

"No,  there  isn't,"  she  said  truculently. 

"What's  wrong  with  us  all?"  Twyford  asked,  and  then 
the  flood  gates  opened,  and  Cathy  began  to  quote  Danielli. 

She  gave  him  no  chance  to  speak,  nor  did  he  attempt  to 
interrupt  her.  Nowhere  in  all  her  world  could  Cathy  dis- 
cover simplicity  and  honest  faith.  The  people  had  decided 
to  cast  out  the  false  gods,  and  the  people  were  right.  You 
could  not  compromise. 

Twyford  looked  at  the  fire,  and  it  was  some  time  before 
he  spoke. 

"I  don't  think  you  give  traditions  much  of  a  chance, 
Cathy,"  he  said,  "and  I'm  not  going  to  wrestle  with  you  in 
argument.  You're  far  better  at  that  kind  of  game  than  I 
am.  You  say,  'let  the  people  rule,'  and  I  suppose  they  are 
going  to  have  a  shot  at  it.  I  hope  they  enjoy  the  job." 

Cathy  smiled  suddenly.  Twyford  was  really  amusing 
when  he  talked  on  abstract  propositions. 

"Still,  there's  one  bad  hole  in  your  argument,"  he  went 
on.  "Danielli,  if  he  became  President  of  the  British  Re- 
public, would  live  in  a  big  house  and  have  a  car;  he  simply 
couldn't  help  himself.  I'm  not  blaming  him ;  only  it's  a  bit 
thick  that  he  should  object  to  me  because  I  could  own  a  car 
— which  I  don't."  It  was  a  long  speech  for  Twyford,  but 
he  had  not  entirely  concluded  what  he  had  to  say.  "To 
get  your  Republic  on  its  legs  there's  a  lot  of  shooting  to  be 
done  first,  and,  if  you  had  been  in  Russia,  as  I  was  when  the 
ball  started,  you'd  wonder  if  it  was  worth  it." 

"It  was  worth  it  to  France,  and  surely  America  is  justified 
of  her  War  of  Independence?" 

Twyford  shrugged  his  shoulders.  She  hated  the  idea  of 
physical  cruelty,  and,  though  he  said  so  very  little,  she  felt 
that  he  was  thinking  of  many  things  which  he  had  seen,  and 
his  thought  touched  her  with  a  queer  sense  of  apprehension ; 
but  Twyford  was  no  diplomatist,  and  he  did  not  know  his 
advantage  over  her.  She  was  just  Cathy  to  him,  Cathy,  who 
was  behaving  like  a  naughty  child  who  has  picked  up  a 


108  CATHY  ROSSITER 

bomb  as  a  plaything  and  refuses  to  hand  it  over  to  the  bid- 
ding of  authority.  He  leant  forward,  putting  his  hand  on 
her  shoulder. 

"I  am  all  that  you  most  object  to,"  he  said;  "that  is,  in 
theory.  I  was  a  dunce  at  Eton,  and  I  didn't  take  my  degree 
at  Oxford,  but  I  can  be  trusted,  Cathy,  and  I  think  it's  time 
you  said  that  you  would  marry  me." 

Cathy  recoiled  from  him  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  He  had 
made  a  hopeless  blunder  and  he  knew  it  directly  it  was  ir- 
revocable, but  spoken  words  cannot  be  recalled. 

"I  shall  make  one  alteration  in  my  plans,"  she  said ;  "in- 
stead of  leaving  to-morrow,  I  shall  go  at  once,"  and,  with- 
out waiting  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say,  she  left  the  room. 

At  six  o'clock  Colonel  Lorrimer  presented  himself  at 
Lady  Carstairs'  house  and  asked  for  Miss  Rossiter,  only  to 
receive  the  information  that  she  had  gone  away,  and  that 
her  address  was  16,  Engine  Street,  Hammersmith.  As  he 
stood  at  the  door,  he  saw  Twyford  cross  the  hall,  but  he 
took  no  notice  of  Lorrimer,  though  he  must  have  seen  him. 
So  Twyford  had  had  an  innings  and  failed.  He  turned 
away  stiffly  and  walked  along  the  square  by  the  railings 
of  the  garden. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  flat  in  Engine  Road  was  at  the  top  of  a  gaunt  house, 
with  interminable  flights  of  stairs  leading  to  the  eyrie  of 
Janey  Greenaway.  All  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  and 
women  lived  on  the  other  landings,  and  the  atmosphere  of 
the  whole  place  was  that  of  disorder.  Janey,  at  the  top, 
escaped  from  a  greater  part  of  the  noise,  and  was  sole 
possessor  of  the  whole  landing.  Her  sitting-room  was  in 
the  centre,  and  two  small  bedrooms  opened  off  it;  opposite 
to  the  door  of  the  sitting-room,  and  across  the  landing,  was 
Barlow's  lair,  where  he  collected  piles  of  daily  papers  and 
answered  an  enormous  correspondence.  There  was  a  tiny 
kitchen  at  the  furthest  end  of  the  landing,  and  a  bathroom, 
which  was  not  often  used,  and  in  which  both  taps  ran  re- 
lentlessly cold  and  chill. 

The  sitting-room  overlooked  the  tops  of  a  group  of  weary 
trees,  and  gave  a  distant  view  of  the  river.  The  windows 
were  thick  with  dust,  but  the  interior  of  the  room  was  com- 
paratively tidy,  for  Janey  liked  to  see  things  in  their  right 
places.  On  the  mantelpiece  there  were  a  number  of  photo- 
graphs of  various  members  of  the  group,  and  the  walls  were 
adorned  with  posters  and  manifestoes  instead  of  pictures. 
The  writing-table  was  piled  up  with  papers,  and  the  carpet 
was  shabby  and  dull  from  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  passing 
of  many  feet.  Janey's  taste  was  not  aesthetic,  and  her  furni- 
ture was  solid  rather  than  beautiful,  but  the  main  disad- 
vantage of  the  flat  lay  in  the  fact  that  it  insisted  upon  close 
quarters.  Pack  people  sufficiently  tight,  and  unless  they  are 
very  unusual,  it  makes  for  irritation.  You  could  say  any- 
thing you  liked  in  Janey's  flat,  and  express  the  most  ex- 
treme opinions  without  reserve.  Everything  was  open  to 
discussion,  and  Janey  herself  invited  debate.  She  had  not 
expected  Cathy  the  evening  she  arrived,  but  it  made  no 
difference. 

109 


no  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Janey  was  going  out  and  did  not  expect  to  be  back  until 
the  small  hours,  and  went  her  untrammelled  way  cheer- 
fully. 

To  Cathy,  the  experience  was  sufficiently  new  to  be  inter- 
esting. She  was  interested  in  her  tiny  box  of  a  room,  with 
a  poster  over  her  bed,  on  which  the  words  stared  at  her 
blackly  in  capitals,  "British  Socialist  Party.  Hands  off 
Russia,"  and  another  over  the  wash-hand-stand,  "Free  the 
Prisoners.  Work  for  the  release  of  1,800  political  prison- 
ers." On  every  side  she  was  exhorted  to  be  up  and  doing, 
and  she  blamed  herself  for  thinking  how  hard  it  would  be 
to  contain  her  possessions  in  one  small  chest  of  drawers. 
From  down  below  perpetual  sounds  came  up  to  her  and  re- 
minded her  that  she  was  in  the  heart  of  life.  Not  shut  away 
into  the  seclusion  and  privacy  of  her  aunt's  house  any  longer, 
but  sheer  in  the  whirlpool  itself. 

She  was  tired  and  she  certainly  missed  the  ordered  com- 
fort of  Aunt  Amy's  house,  but  her  heart  was  light  and  she 
sang  to  herself  as  she  washed  up  the  plates  in  the  pantry 
sink. 

When  Cathy  had  nearly  finished  washing  up,  she  heard  a 
footstep  in  the  kitchen,  and  Barlow  stood  in  the  door  look- 
ing at  her.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  smiled,  and  Cathy  re- 
sponded at  once.  She  did  not  like  Barlow,  but  felt  that  she 
must  manage  to  swallow  him,  both  for  Janey's  sake  and 
because  he  was  a  comrade  in  the  world's  adventure. 

"Too  late  to  be  of  use,"  he  said,  "but  in  time  to  talk.  I 
have  a  free  hour.  Janey  gone  out  ?" 

Cathy  replied  that  Mrs.  Greenaway  was  not  likely  to  be 
in  before  midnight,  and  she  followed  him,  as  he  walked  with 
hunched  shoulders  to  the  sitting-room  and  turned  on  the 
gas  fire  and  the  strong  incandescent  light  over  the  table. 
She  never  allowed  herself  to  think  very  much  of  Janey's 
romance ;  it  seemed  out  of  place,  and,  as  romances  go,  there 
was  so  very  little  illusion  about  it.  They  seemed  like  wild 
birds  rocking  upon  an  upper  branch  in  a  storm,  and  with  a 
bare,  bleak  world  around  them.  Barlow  was  often  rude 
and  abrupt  to  Janey,  and  there  were  times  when  Mrs. 
Greenaway  appeared  to  be  on  edge  and  very  irritable 


CATHY  ROSSITER  in 

towards  Barlow,  but  it  never  occurred  to  Cathy  to  doubt 
the  high  principles  or  the  sincerity  of  either.  Barlow's 
spare  bent  figure  and  look  of  aged  youth  was  painful  in  a 
way.  He  had  done  six  months  in  jail  and  his  face  had  a 
set,  scraped  look.  His  hair  was  cropped  to  the  skin,  and 
his  "Pan-like  effect"  made  all  the  rest  of  him  bizarre  and 
alarming. 

For  a  little  while  Barlow  talked  of  the  strike,  laughing  to 
himself  and  rubbing  his  chin  with  his  knuckles.  He  had 
adopted  a  violence  of  speech,  the  more  to  repudiate  his 
training,  and  Cathy  felt  odd  thrills  of  astonishment  as  he 
used  the  language  of  the  working  man.  He  sat  huddled 
deep  in  the  most  comfortable  chair,  with  his  legs  crossed 
and  his  knees  up  to  his  chin,  and  all  the  time  he  watched  her 
with  his  half-mystic,  half-malevolent  eyes. 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,"  he  said,"  it  will  do  you  a  heap  of 
good.  The  first  time  I  saw  you  you  were  wearing  a  hat, 
rather  a  neat  kind  of  hat,  but  it  hid  your  hair." 

Cathy  looked  at  him,  and  then  looked  away  quickly.  She 
became  certain  that  she  did  not  care  for  Major  Barlow. 

"You  are  wonderfully  beautiful,"  he  said  at  last ;  "far 
too  beautiful,  because  you  make  us  all  think  of  you  most 
for  that.  Danielli  knows  it."  He  laughed  again  and  hugged 
himself.  "I  loved  you  at  once." 

Cathy  got  up  and  looked  towards  the  door  of  her  room. 
If  Barlow  intended  to  be  offensive  she  had  a  remedy,  she 
could  go  to  bed.  But  she  had  reckoned  without  full  knowl- 
edge of  the  actual  conditions  of  Janey's  flat,  and  Barlow, 
who  saw  what  she  intended  to  do,  spoke  quickly. 

"The  door  doesn't  shut,  so  if  you  do  go  to  bed  it  doesn't 
cut  communications.  Sit  down  and  talk.  What  are  you 
frightened  of?  I'm  not  the  first  man,  married  or  single, 
who  has  said  he  loved  you,  not  by  dozens.  Don't  play  the 
prude." 

Cathy  subsided  into  her  chair.  Here  was  a  dilemma,  and 
it  must  be  met  sensibly.  After  all,  there  was  no  use  in  say- 
ing, "Unhand  me,  villain."  She  had  wanted  free  speech, 
and  if  it  was  more  than  she  had  bargained  for,  she  still 
had  no  real  right  to  complain.  The  worst  of  it  was  that 


ii2  CATHY  ROSSITER 

she  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Her  class  barriers  were  a 
fearful  disadvantage,  for  any  girl  of  the  people  would  have 
been  able  to  settle  Barlow  inside  five  minutes. 

"I  think  you're  talking  nonsense,"  she  said,  trying  not  to 
speak  frigidly,  in  case  he  should  laugh  at  her. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  you,"  he  replied,  "only  of  myself. 
I've  loved  a  lot  of  women.  Before  I  took  up  with  Janey  I 
was  living  with  Esme  Jacobs,  a  dark  little  Jew  girl." 

He  lighted  an  American  cigarette  and  looked  reflectively 
at  the  narrow  spiral  of  smoke. 

"It  doesn't  interest  me  in  the  least,"  Cathy  said,  flushing 
to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  "and  besides,  I  consider  that  if 
you  love  anyone  you  ought  to  have  the  common  decency  to 
be  faithful." 

"Oh,  that's  what  you  think,  is  it?"  He  appeared  neither 
nettled  nor  concerned,  merely  astonished.  "I  should  have 
thought  that  you  might  have  discovered  that  inspiration  re- 
quires change."  He  laughed  again,  his  odd,  chuckling 
laugh,  and  went  on.  "Since  first  I  saw  you  I  have  felt  that 
you  could  be  of  great  help  to  me,  but  of  course  you'd  have 
to  live  with  me.  You  can't  know  a  woman  at  all  unless  you 
have  lived  with  her." 

"And  do  you  propose  that  I  shall  be  one  of  your  harem, 
or  what  is  your  idea  ?"  Cathy  felt  her  temper  rising  wildly. 

"There,  there,"  he  said,  and  he  patted  her  arm.  "I  con- 
stantly forget  that  you  aren't  half  educated.  If  you  agree, 
and  you  probably  will  in  time,  you  could  trust  me  implicitly." 

Cathy  looked  around  her  in  dismay.  Would  Janey  never 
come  in,  would  no  one  come  ?  She  felt  absurdly  frightened 
of  Barlow,  and  she  began  to  remember  that  one  read  things 
in  the  daily  papers  about  what  men  sometimes  did.  She 
reminded  herself  that  Barlow  was  originally  from  her  own 
world,  and  she  gathered  courage  again. 

"Surely,  Major  Barlow,"  she  said,  "you  still  remember 
how  to  treat  women  decently?  I  hate  to  take  you  at  your 
own  word." 

"Why  not?"  He  leaned  forward,  gaunt  and  large,  and 
put  his  thin  face  close  to  hers.  "I  have  been  a  convict,  and 


CATHY  ROSSITER  113 

I  have  worked  as  a  day  labourer.  I've  got  away  from  the 
flim-flams,  Cathy,  and  your  voice  is  sweet — ah,  sweet." 

He  took  hold  of  her  hand  and  began  to  kiss  her  wrist  with 
dry,  hungry  kisses. 

Forcing  herself  free  from  him,  she  stood  against  the 
table.  Barlow  did  not  get  up,  he  only  watched  her  with  the 
same  curiously  concentrated  interest. 

"You  are  beautiful,"  he  said  again,  with  great  sincerity, 
"and  I  suppose  I've  been  forcing  the  pace.  Still,  you  will 
have  to  forgive  me,  you  aren't  half  educated,  and  you  stifle 
every  natural  impulse  because  you've  been  shackled  by  silly 
traditions.  Let  yourself  be  the  woman  God  meant  you  to 
be." 

What  Cathy  would  have  said  she  did  not  know.  She  was 
only  aware  of  footsteps  on  the  bare  boards  of  the  passage. 
Someone  was  coming  to  the  rescue,  and,  whoever  it  was, 
she  was  more  than  thankful  to  him.  She  adjusted  her 
looks,  with  the  life-long  habit  of  hiding  a  scene,  and  when 
he  heard  a  knock  on  the  door,  Barlow  sank  back  and  began 
to  nurse  his  knees  again.  He,  too,  looked  as  though  noth- 
ing the  least  unusual  had  occurred. 

"Come  in,"  Cathy  said,  and  her  voice  sounded  steady  and 
normal.  She  even  wondered  at  herself  and  her  own  calm. 

There  was  a  pause  before  the  door  opened,  and  she  had 
crossed  the  room,  fearing  that  whoever  it  was  who  knocked 
might  go  away,  and  opening  the  door,  found  herself  face 
to  face  with  Colonel  Lorrimer. 

Lorrimer  had  known  Cathy  pleased  to  see  him  on  many 
occasions;  he  had  also  known  occasions  when  she  hardly 
realised  that  he  was  there  at  all,  but  just  when  he  dreaded 
that  she  might  meet  him  with  anger,  he  saw  her  whole  face 
break  into  joyful  recognition. 

"You,"  she  said,  "you,  Colonel  Lorrimer.  I  am  glad  to 
see  you." 

She  brought  him  in  and  introduced  him  to  Barlow,  who 
did  not  get  up  but  nodded  over  his  shoulder,  and  Lorrimer 
took  off  his  gloves  and  looked  around  him.  Barlow  noted 
his  look  and  hated  him  for  it. 

The  position  was  intensely  difficult,  and  Barlow  did  noth- 


ii4  CATHY  ROSSITER 

ing  to  lessen  the  tension,  nor  did  he  make  the  least  effort 
to  leave  them  together,  even  though  Lorrimer  remarked 
pointedly  that  he  had  a  message  from  Lady  Carstairs.  The 
message  was  an  invention  of  his  own.  He  had  not  put  on 
•evening  dress,  but  wore  a  dark  suit,  and  his  prosperity 
clashed  and  warred  with  the  lean  figure  of  Barlow,  heaped 
and  untidy  and  not  even  particularly  clean. 

"Are  you  stayin'  here  long?"  he  asked,  looking  at  Cathy 
with  his  dull  eyes.  "I  only  heard  to-day  that  you  thought 
of  taking  a  kind  of  holiday,  what?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am  having  a  holiday."  Cathy  laughed.  "I 
wish  you  would  come  and  help  us ;  there  is  a  great  deal  to 
do." 

"Not  in  your  line,"  Barlow  remarked  from  behind  an 
evening  paper  which  he  had  produced  from  his  pocket. 

"And  why  not  in  my  line  ?"  Lorrimer's  tone  was  deliber- 
ately provocative. 

"I'd  better  not  say."  Barlow  laid  the  paper  over  his 
knees  and  laughed.  "Already  I  have  affronted  Cathy  Ros- 
siter  by  telling  her  the  truth,  and  I  can't  suppose  that  you 
would  care  for  it  any  more  than  she  did." 

Lorrimer  turned  his  back  upon  Barlow  and  began  to 
talk  to  Cathy  in  a  slightly  lowered  voice. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  you  have  to  be  away  just  now,"  he 
said,  "for  my  own  sake.  I'm  standing  for  Kingslade  and 
am  full  of  all  sorts  of  ideas."  He  heard  Barlow's  stifled 
sound  of  mockery.  "I  want  to  get  hold  of  a  whole  heap  of 
information  that  I  can't  come  by.  Jesson  has  allowed  me  an 
open  programme,  and  I  can  work  along  the  widest  lines." 

"God !  How  long  are  you  all  going  to  talk  that  kind  of 
bilge  ?"  Barlow  said  from  his  chair.  "Until  the  millennium, 
I  suppose?  Good  houses,  good  wages,  cheap  food.  You 
and  your  lot  have  been  shoving  that  bloody  clap-trap  down 
the  neck  of  the  working  man  since  Cain  killed  Abel." 

"I  felt  that  you  would  be  able  to  help  me  tremendously," 
Lorrimer  said,  entirely  disregarding  the  interruption,  "only 
I  suppose  I'm  too  late.  I  expect  that  Monica  will  lend  a 
hand,  she  is  very  dependable." 

"Dear  old  Mug.    I  haven't  seen  her  for  ages."    Cathy's 


CATHY  ROSSITER  115 

voice  sounded  regretful,  and  she  looked  at  Lorrimer  pite- 
ously.  She  saw,  ahead  of  her,  a  month  of  torture.  Bar- 
low always  in  the  flat,  and,  indeed,  there  by  right  of  part 
ownership,  and  Janey  gradually  awakening  into  shrewish 
jealousy.  She  had  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  human 
side  of  Janey  one  night  when  Barlow  had  taken  a  delegate 
from  the  Women's  Bus  Conductors'  Union  home,  after  a 
meeting  where  she  had  spoken  with  fiery  eloquence;  her 
uniform  and  her  piquante  face  making  ample  amends  for 
her  cockney  voice  and  an  absence  of  aspirates.  Janey  had 
let  go  for  about  five  minutes,  and  Cathy  always  strove  to 
forget  the  revelation.  Women  of  all  classes  were  the  same 
in  this  respect,  she  had  told  herself,  only  that  Janey  was 
honest  enough  to  say  what  she  thought.  The  idea  of  the 
same  honesty  being  brought  into  play  in  her  own  case  was 
disquieting  and  hopelessly  awkward.  Barlow  cared  nothing 
for  anyone's  feelings,  and  he  had  certainly  marked  her  for 
his  own.  Lorrimer  had  not  even  hinted  at  her  giving  up 
her  work;  he  did  not  seem  to  expect  it.  All  that  appeared 
was  that  he  was  intensely  sorry  to  miss  her  help,  and 
Monica  would  do  very  well  instead.  The  flat  grew  close 
and  airless,  and  Cathy  remembered,  with  shrinkings  of  the 
soul,  that  Janey  went  away  quite  often  to  stump  the  manu- 
facturing towns,  and,  with  Janey  away,  she  would  be  all 
alone  with  Barlow.  If  he  desired  to  engineer  it,  he  could 
arrange  for  Janey  to  go  and  carry  the  fiery  cross  through 
rural  England,  and  have  her  at  his  mercy,  or  put  her  in  the 
position  of  one  who  would  go  back  to  her  people  feeling 
that  she  had  fought  for  nothing— besides,  there  was  Danielli,. 
and  he  wanted  her. 

Lorrimer  had  run  rather  short  of  conversation,  but  he 
showed  no  sign  of  moving,  and  Cathy  prayed  that  he  would 
stay.  She  offered  him  tea,  for  it  was  the  only  thing  there 
was  to  offer,  and  Barlow  drank  it  strong  and  black  at  all 
hours. 

"So  Mug  will  take  a  holiday  and  go  electioneering,"  she 
said,  with  an  effort  at  gaiety.  "I  shall  make  her  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

Her  hands  trembled  a  little  and  she  looked,  so  Lorrimer 


n6  CATHY  ROSSITER 

felt,  unprotected  and  quite  ridiculously  out  of  place.  In  his 
eyes  Barlow  appeared  like  a  gargoyle,  sticking  out  his  long 
neck  and  following  her  with  his  passionate  look.  It  was 
hateful,  damnable,  quite  intolerable,  and  somehow  or  other 
it  must  be  ended  at  once.  He  had  left  his  car  in  Hammer- 
smith Broadway,  and  he  wanted  to  bring  her  away  in  it  im- 
mediately. He  also  desired  to  break  Barlow's  neck  and 
throw  him  down  the  dirty  staircase,  but  he  felt  that  he  must 
walk  warily,  and  that  all  he  dared  do  to  show  his  feelings 
was  to  continue  in  his  remote  attitude,  ignoring  Barlow  so 
far  as  he  was  able.  He  looked  at  his  teacup  and  glanced 
again  around  the  room,  with  its  wild  posters  decorating 
the  walls,  and  the  cold,  ungracious  light  of  the  gas  making 
even  Cathy  look  hard  of  outline  and  a  little  angular,  because 
of  the  deep  shadows  it  threw.  To  see  her  in  such  a  place 
was  simply  tragic,  and  to  think  of  her  remaining  on  in  the 
company  of  a  man  who  talked  like  a  navvy  was  out  of  the 
question. 

"When  does  Mrs.  Greenaway  usually — er — toddle  home  ?" 
he  asked,  trying  to  play  up  to  Cathy's  effort  at  lightness. 

"Any  old  hour,"  Barlow  replied.  "She  may  not  come 
back  to-night." 

"Oh,"  replied  Lorrimer  stiffly,  and  he  crumbled  a  soft 
biscuit. 

"You  couldn't  spare  me  an  hour  or  two  to-morrow?"  he 
said  tentatively,  "or  is  all  your  day  quite  full?  If  you 
could,  I  can  run  you  and  Monica  down  with  me  in  the  car, 
and  still  get  you  back  in  plenty  of  time  for  stiffenin'  the 
strike." 

Try  as  he  would,  his  voice  betrayed  animosity,  but  Cathy 
did  not  resent  it. 

"Certainly,"  she  said,  "it's  quite  easy.  I  am  really  free 
all  the  early  part  of  the  day." 

She  glanced  at  Barlow  with  a  quick  look  of  apprehen- 
sion, and  Lorrimer  saw  that  already  she  was  a  little  afraid 
of  him,  and  he  cursed  him  again. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  be  returned.  It's 
likely  to  be  a  stiff  fight.  There's  Colebrook,  a  Labour  Can- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  117 

didate,  and  possibly  Elmsford,  in  the  Conservative  interest, 
only  he  may  stand  down.  I'm  a  kind  of  experiment " 

"Of  course  you'll  get  in,"  Cathy  said  enthusiastically. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  added  Barlow.  "Votes  at,  say,  eight 
and  sixpence  a  head,  and  a  war-cry  of  'Out  with  the  Hun, 
and  England  for  the  English.'  Accept  my  congratulations 
in  advance." 

Lorrimer  glanced  at  his  watch.  It  was  nearly  midnight, 
and  his  chauffeur  would  be  in  a  foul  temper  at  the  long 
delay,  but  he  had  grown  to  a  feeling  of  independence 
towards  chauffeurs  since  his  early  days,  and  if  the  man 
showed  temper  he  would  sack  him.  Certainly  he  would  not 
apologise. 

"It's  getting  late,"  he  said,  and  looked  at  Cathy,  waiting 
for  her  to  tell  him  what  she  wished  him  to  do. 

She  was  abstracted  and  distressed,  and  she  plunged  into  a 
fresh  conversation,  though  she  looked  dreadfully  tired  and 
weary,  and  obviously  should  have  been  in  bed.  Was  she 
afraid  of  Barlow,  he  wondered?  He  had  a  beastly  reputa- 
tion where  women  were  concerned,  and  Lorrimer  sat  on. 

"To-morrow,  then,  at  eleven,"  he  said;  "that's  fixed." 

And  a  few  minutes  later  Janey  Greenaway  came  in  and 
sat  down  at  the  table.  She  wanted  tea,  quantities  of  tea; 
and,  feeling  that  Cathy  was  now  protected  from  having  to 
be  alone  with  Barlow,  Colonel  Lorrimer  took  his  departure, 
and  Cathy  withdrew  to  her  bedroom. 

As  she  lay  awake,  the  door  ajar  because  it  wouldn't  shut, 
she  heard  Janey's  clear,  incisive  tones,  and  Barlow's  low 
mumble  continuing  interminably.  Cathy  hadn't  made  her 
bed  very  well,  but  she  was  too  weary  to  notice  that,  and  at 
last  she  fell  asleep. 

In  the  morning  Janey  set  her  to  clear  away  the  debris  of 
the  over-night  meal  and  lay  the  table.  Cathy  had  a  little  hot 
water  from  the  kettle  in  which  to  wash,  and  she  felt  out  of 
sorts  and  still  sleepy.  Janey  was  just  as  full  of  energy  and 
vitality  as  ever,  and  she  smoked  her  "gaspers"  while  she 
cooked  at  the  gas  stove  with  untroubled  indifference. 

It  was  during  breakfast  that  she  announced  to  Cathy  that 
she  might  have  to  go  to  Manchester.  There  was  urgent 


n8  CATHY  ROSSITER 

need  of  workers  among  the  hands  at  a  large  cotten  factory, 
who  had  accepted  terms  which  clashed  with  Danielli's  views, 
and  they  must  be  brought  into  line. 

"You'll  be  all  right  here,"  she  said.  "George  won't  be  in 
the  way,  and  you  can  go  to  the  Progress  Club  if  you  feel 
dull." 

Cathy  fiddled  with  her  toast  and  looked  at  Janey,  who 
evidently  guessed  nothing  as  to  how  matters  now  stood  be- 
tween her  and  Major  Barlow. 

"I  think  I  can't,"  she  said  doubtfully.  "Don't  regard  me 
as  a  fool,  Janey  dear,  but  I'd  far  rather  leave,  and  come 
back  to  you  when  your  Manchester  trip  is  over.  I'm  not  a 
bit  used  to  being  alone  and  running  a  man,  as  it  were."  She 
smiled  a  perplexed  little  smile.  "I  see  how  idiotic  I  look, 
"but  I  want  your  help,  Janey.  Without  you  I  fizzle  out." 

Mrs.  Greenaway  looked  at  her  with  her  sharp,  black  eyes. 

"You  ought  to  learn  independence,"  she  said  firmly. 
""Everyone  should  be  independent.  It  is  the  fault  of  your 
wretched  upbringing,  Cathy.  I  don't  mind  what  I  eat,  or 
where  I  sleep.  You  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  hot  bath  habit 
and  a  special  bed.  I  don't  blame  you,  I  only  say  that  it's 
time  you  conquered  it." 

"I  am  going  to  Kingslade  this  morning,"  Cathy  explained. 
"Colonel  Lorrimer,  the  man  who  was  here  last  night,  came 
to  ask  me  to  go  down  with  him  and  an  old  friend,  Monica 
Henstock;  he  is  standing  for  the  election  there,  as  a  Pro- 
gressive." 

"Progressives !"  Janey's  scorn  was  limitless.  "They  are 
about  as  progressive  as  a  four-wheeler.  If  there  is  any 
progress  about  them  it  works  backwards.  Surely  you  don't 
mean  to  show  on  their  side?  If  you  do,  Cathy,  I  warn  you 
that  Danielli  won't  like  it.  We  aren't  out  to  mix  with  any- 
one else;  what  we  stand  for  is  the  International  idea,  and 
the  Progressives,  if  they  have  an  idea,  are  all  jingoes;  in 
other  words,  they  intend  to  keep  up  a  huge  army  and  all  the 
class  barriers  firm." 

"Surely  I  am  hardly  of  sufficient  importance,"  Cathy  said. 
"No,  Janey,  I  couldn't  offer  up  my  liberty  of  action.  I  can 
do  very  little  either  for  Danielli  or  for  Colonel  Lorrimer, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  119 

but  I  feel  that  it  is  of  real  use  to  combine  for  the  best 
points  in  the  Progressive  programme." 

"Very  well,"  Janey  got  up  and  began  to  collect  the  plates, 
"do  as  you  like  about  it.  I  only  tell  you  that  you  can't  serve 
God  and  mammon.  You  are  too  fond  of  compromise,  Cathy, 
and  it  will  be  the  ruin  of  your  life  before  you  have  finished." 

Cathy  assented,  but  she  made  no  offer  to  change  her  plans, 
and,  with  a  guilty  rising  of  her  spirits,  she  packed  her  bag 
and  left  it  ready,  while  she  joined  Janey  again,  and  Barlow; 
came  in.  He  looked  more  gaunt  than  ever,  and  his  queer, 
deep-set  eyes  were  mocking  and  angry. 

"So  you  have  decided  to  cut  and  run?"  he  asked  rudely. 

"I'm  coming  back  when  Janey's  stunt  is  over." 

Barlow  laughed,  and  his  laugh  was  not  pleasant. 

"From  the  first,"  he  said,  "I  guessed  you'd  have  cold  feet. 
You  are  flesh  and  bone  of  the  ruling  class,  and  there's  noth- 
ing so  vulgar  as  guts  in  your  make-up." 

"Don't  be  a  beast,  George,"  Janey  flared  up  in  defence  of 
her  friend. 

"Miss  Rossiter  is  one  of  those  people  who  can  only  swal- 
low the  truth  in  homoeopathic  doses,"  he  said,  sitting  down  to 
the  one  place  left  at  the  table  and  helping  himself  to  tea. 
"I  entirely  agree  that  she  is  right  to  leave  us,  but  I  want  her 
to  think  honestly." 

Cathy  felt  her  ears  tingling,  and  she  hated  Barlow  as  he 
sat  there,  unshaved  and  indifferent. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  suddenly,  "if  we  are  going  to  abuse 
each  other,  my  chief  reason  for  going  away  is  that  I  won't 
remain  here  with  you." 

"That's  better,"  he  said,  nodding  at  her.  "I  like  the  sound 
of  that.  You're  learning  a  little." 

"Let  her  do  what  she  likes,"  said  Janey,  who  did  not  ap- 
pear to  care  very  much. 

She  was  fond  of  Cathy,  but  she  realised  that  an  extra 
person  in  the  flat  was  likely  to  make  trouble,  and  she  felt 
sure  that  Barlow  was  attracted  by  the  magic  of  her  friend. 
She  had  asked  her  to  come  there  because  Danielli  said  that 
she  might  be  useful,  but  even  Danielli  had  his  doubts. 

"Your  fat  friend  will  get  in  for  Kingslade.    It  is  a  rotten 


120  CATHY  ROSSITER 

place,  servile  and  cringing,"  Barlow  went  on.  "The  people 
have  been  taught  by  the  parson  to  'order  themselves  lowly 
and  reverently  to  all  their  betters/  and  they  will  vote  as 
they  are  told  to,  or  those  who  profess  scruples  will  make 
their  eight  and  sixpence."  He  was  eating  with  a  careless, 
rapid  violence,  and  drinking  noisily. 

He  took  no  more  notice  of  her,  and  began  to  read  The 
Call,  while  he  stirred  his  tea,  slopping  it  over  into  the 
saucer;  nor  did  he  speak  to  her  again  when  she  had  put 
on  her  hat  and  came  back  to  the  room  carrying  her  suit- 
case. He  sat  there  unconcerned,  and  absorbed  in  his  paper, 
until  a  chauffeur  in  a  smart  livery  came  up  the  staircase 
and  stood  in  the  doorway.  His  orders  were,  he  said,  to  call 
for  Miss  Rossiter  and  then  return  to  Colonel  Lorrimer's  flat, 
where  he  and  Dr.  Henstock  would  be  waiting.  Barlow 
glanced  up  at  the  servant  and  gave  his  odd,  grinning  smile. 

"By  gosh,"  he  said ;  "I  thought  that  you  were  a  thing  of 
the  past." 

The  chauffeur  glanced  at  Cathy  and  took  up  her  suit-case. 
Janey  had  gone  and  the  situation  appeared  to  puzzle  him. 

"I'm  not  above  doing  honest  work,"  he  said  truculently, 
"if  that's  what  you  mean." 

Cathy  looked  at  Barlow.  If  she  was  ever  really  to  re- 
turn to  this  strange  world,  she  ought  to  try  and  part  with 
him  in  a  more  or  less  friendly  spirit. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said,  softening,  as  was  her  wont. 

"Oh,  run  along,"  he  said  brutally ;  "soft  sawder  is  no  use 
to  me.  But  one  of  these  days,  when  you  do  really  wake 
up,  we  may  meet  again." 

He  began  to  read  his  paper,  and  Cathy  left  him,  and  sped 
down  the  staircase  to  where  the  large  car  was  attracting  a 
great  deal  of  attention  in  the  street. 

She  sat  in  the  car,  her  eyes  on  a  bunch  of  expensive  car- 
nations set  in  a  cut-glass  vase  over  a  looking-glass,  and 
tears  came  into  her  eyes.  She  was  miserably  disappointed 
in  herself,  and  she  felt  that  every  accusation  which  Barlow 
had  thrown  at  her  was  intrinsically  true.  She  had  not  got 
the  grit  of  Janey,  or  the  firm  steadfastness  of  Monica ;  she 
saw  that  Danielli  was  right;  but  personal  discomfort  and 


CATHY  ROSSITER  121 

the  attentions  of  Barlow,  which  she  should  be  able  to  tackle, 
had  discouraged  her  at  the  outset.  She  had  not  stood  the 
test,  and  she  was  discredited  in  her  own  eyes. 

The  drive  to  Kingslade  was  delightful,  and  the  village 
looked  as  though  it  had  been  designed  by  an  artist.  Pointed 
roofs  and  gabled  houses,  a  market  square  surrounded  by 
trees  in  their  spring  green;  an  old  Cathedral,  drowsy  and 
mellowed  by  time,  and  a  Close,  where  the  shadows  lay  over 
a  stretch  of  old  turf,  and,  at  the  end  of  the  wide  street,  the 
imposing  wrought-iron  gates  of  Kingslade  Park.  A  neat  old 
woman  came  out  and  curtsied  to  them  as  she  opened  the 
gates,  and  both  Monica  and  Cathy  exclaimed  at  the  beauty 
of  the  view  within.  Kingslade  Park  was  a  perfect  house, 
standing  on  a  rise  over  a  clear  lake,  wooded  on  one  side, 
and  the  outline  of  tower  and  turret  stood  up  against  the 
stainless  blue  of  the  sky.  It  would  be  easy,  so  Cathy 
thought,  to  keep  oneself  unspotted  from  the  world  in  such 
an  environment,  and  she  walked  through  the  house,  looking 
at  room  after  room,  entranced  by  the  spirit  of  the  place. 
She  had  come  there  direct  from  Engine  Road,  and  she  felt 
that  it  represented  shelter  and  peace. 

While  he  showed  them  round  the  house,  and,  later  on,  in 
the  wonderful  gardens,  Lorrimer  talked  of  his  plans.  He 
wanted  "betterment,"  the  word  cropped  up  perpetually,  and 
he  leaned  upon  it  heavily.  Conditions  in  the  village  were  by 
no  means  as  admirable  as  they  appeared.  There  was  a  great 
deal  to  be  done.  He  wanted  to  set  up  a  technical  school, 
and  he  wanted — there  was  no  end  to  what  he  wanted.  Life 
was  good,  life  was  beautiful,  and  here  in  the  village  there 
was  scope  enough  and  to  spare.  They  all  seemed  to  be  in 
perfect  accord  and  unison,  and  after  lunch  Lorrimer  dis- 
covered that  the  lodge-keeper's  daughter  was  down  with  a 
sore  throat.  Monica  became  professional  at  once,  and  it 
was  suggested  that  she  should  be  run  down  in  the  car  to 
have  a  look  at  the  patient. 

When  she  had  gone  and  they  were  alone,  Lorrimer  took 
Cathy  into  the  library.  She  was  unusually  silent,  and  he 
stood  a  little  way  off  watching  her. 


122  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"I'm  glad  you  like  it  all,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Like  it?  It's  a  heavenly  place.  And  then,  you  are 
going  to  do  so  much." 

Cathy  sat  down  at  the  writing-table,  and  suddenly  and 
without  warning,  she  began  to  cry. 

"I  feel  such  a  failure,"  she  said;  "all  my  fine  talk,  and 
the  way  I  have  bullied  Aunt  Amy  and  all  of  them.  .  .  . 
Janey  saw  that  I  was  no  real  use,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  had  sat 
down  in  a  puddle." 

Lorrimer  advanced  towards  her.  How  long  would 
Monica  be  absent,  he  wondered.  He  should  have  given  the 
chauffeur  an  injunction  to  delay,  only  that  it  would  hardly 
have  been  in  keeping  with  his  dignity. 

"It  was  only  through  you,  and  the  thought  of  you,"  he 
said,  "that  I  have  begun  to  do  anything.  I  may  do  some- 
thing alone,  but  if — yes,  if "  he  bent  over  her  and  put 

his  hands  on  her  shoulders. 

She  raised  her  face  and  looked  up  at  him,  listening,  and 
not  angry. 

"I  am  a  nobody,"  he  said,  "and  I  hardly  dare  to  suggest 
it  to  you,  but,  with  you  as  my  wife,  all  my  dreams  would 
come  true." 

Cathy  propped  her  chin  on  her  folded  hands.  She  was 
thinking,  and  he  knew  that  it  meant  he  had  lost  nothing  any- 
how, and  might  even  have  gained  his  heart's  desire. 

"You  want  me  to  marry  you?"  she  said.  "But  I  don't 
think  I  love  you.  I  love  your  ideals  and  all  you  are  going 
to  do,  but  the  real  you  I  know  so  little." 

Lorrimer  stood  silent,  with  bent  head,  and  Cathy  recalled 
the  Batten  incident,  and,  somehow,  as  she  again  remembered 
Barlow,  she  made  up  her  mind  at  once. 

"I  will  marry  you,"  she  said,  and  she  put  her  hands  in  his. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  not  tell  Monica  until  your  people 
know,"  he  said,  as  the  sound  of  the  car  coming  up  the  ave- 
nue warned  them  of  her  return. 

In  his  heart  he  was  well  aware  that  there  was  a  bad  time 
ahead  for  Monica.  He  had  been  with  her  a  great  deal  of 
late,  and  he  had  grown  close  to  her.  That  did  not  matter 
now,  because  Cathy  was  his  own,  but  it  would  be  a  pity  if 


CATHY  ROSSITER  123 

Monica  were  to  be  on  edge  and  angry  during  the  drive 
back.  He  owed  it  to  her  to  break  the  news  softly,  and 
surely  the  best  way  to  do  this  is  to  write. 

"I'd  have  that  hall  coloured  differently,"  Monica  said,  as 
they  took  a  last  look  round.  "A  few  palms  will  be  a  great 
improvement." 


CHAPTER  XI 

LADY  CARSTAIRS'  joy  at  the  swift  return  of  the  Prodigal  was 
unbounded.  She  was  astounded  and  delighted  at  once,  and 
when  Cathy  went  to  her  room  and  left  her  aunt  with  Lorri- 
mer,  she  said  again  and  again,  "How  did  you  persuade  her? 
It  is  the  last  thing  I  expected." 

Lorrimer,  intensely  self-conscious  and  inwardly  bursting 
with  pride,  spoke  humbly,  and  inferred  that  he  had  thought 
it  best  to  go  to  Hammersmith  the  night  before,  "in  case  she 
wasn't  having  a  good  time." 

"I  am  sure  you  did  something  very  clever,"  Lady  Car- 
stairs  repeated  at  intervals,  "and  I  need  not  say  how  grate- 
ful I  am/' 

Then  the  moment  for  disclosure  arrived,  and  Lorrimer's 
throat  grew  dry.  It  was  difficult  to  get  over  the  intangible 
ledge  which  divided  him  from  Cathy's  aunt.  She  had  been 
saying  "Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  servant,"  and 
he  had  to  inform  her  that  he  was  about  to  become  her 
nephew-in-law. 

"We  went  to  Kingslade,"  he  said  as  an  opening. 

"A  charming  place.  I  felt  so  deeply  for  Sandown  when 
it  had  to  be  sold.  It  seemed  as  though  yet  another  land- 
mark had  been  swept  away.  Ah  well,  after  all  their  loss  is 
your  gain." 

It  was  not  exactly  encouraging,  but  Lorrimer  waded  on. 

"While  we  were  there,"  he  said  abruptly,  "I  asked  your 
niece  to  marry  me,  Lady  Carstairs,  and  she  has  accepted 
me." 

Lady  Carstairs  was  silent,  and  her  silence  was  terrible. 
She  loved  Cathy  deeply,  and  she  admired  Twyford  from 
her  heart.  To  see  them  married  was  one  of  the  hopes  of 
her  years,  and  though  she  considered  Lorrimer,  "a  good 
man,"  she  felt  him  almost  as  far  beneath  her  as  Cutler, 

124 


CATHY  ROSSITER  125 

who  had  been  in  her  service  for  twenty  years.  The  blow 
could  not  be  disguised,  and  she  made  no  attempt  to  disguise 
it. 

"I  wonder  if  Cathy  has  given  due  thought  to  her  reply," 
she  said,  compressing  her  lips.  "She  is  alarmingly  impul- 
sive, Colonel  Lorrimer,  and  you  would  do  well  not  to  count! 
upon  too  much.  You  have  seen  what  happened  yesterday. 
Only  yesterday  afternoon  she  was  quite  sure  that  Providence 
meant  her  to  remain  in  Hammersmith." 

"I  think  she  meant  what  she  said,"  he  replied  obstinately. 

"You  will  understand,"  Lady  Carstairs  continued,  "that 
for  a  long  time,  though  there  is  no  actual  engagement,  we 
have  taken  it  for  granted  that  Lord  Twyford  and  she  would 
marry." 

"Surely  Cathy  herself  is  the  best  judge." 

Lorrimer  was  getting  angry,  with  the  slow,  solemn  anger 
of  a  heavy  man. 

"Pardon  me,"  Lady  Carstairs  was  more  and  more  polite ; 
"I  feel  she  is  not;  not  at  this  moment.  She  is  upset  and 
over-excited.  I  do  not  hint  that  you  took  any  advantage 
of  her,  please  understand  that,  Colonel  Lorrimer,  but  she 
must  be  given  time  to  reflect."  She  got  up  and  held  out  her 
hand,  and  Lorrimer  found  himself  being  dismissed.  "I 
cannot  say  that  I  should  like  the  marriage.  Not  that  I  think 
that  you  are  to  blame.  You  are  a  good  man,  and  I  fully 
respect  you.  It  is  as  well,"  she  coughed  drily,  "that  you 
should  know  that  I  do  object  most  definitely,  and  that  I 
shall  use  any  influence  I  have  to  show  Cathy  what  a  mistake 
it  would  all  be." 

Lorrimer  stuck  out  his  elbows,  and  talked  in  a  special 
voice  which  he  only  used  when  he  had  been  intensely  af- 
fronted. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  with  acid  formality,  addressing 
her  as  though  she  were  a  constituent,  "I  shall  not  count  upon 
your  support." 

He  might  possibly  have  said  more,  only  that  Robert 
Amyas  came  in,  and  Lady  Carstairs  greeted  him  affection- 
ately. 

"Am  I  disturbing  you?"  he  asked  in  his  drawling  way. 


126  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Not  in  the  least,  Robert;  Colonel  Lorrimer  is  going," 
and  Lady  Carstairs  bowed  very  stiffly  in  his  direction  as  he 
left  the  room. 

He  felt  he  had  been  hounded  out,  and  his  anger  was  great, 
but  he  consoled  himself  by  going  to  Spinks  and  buying  a 
very  expensive  ring,  which  he  sent  by  special  messenger  to 
the  house  in  Cavendish  Square. 

"You  look  as  though  Lorrimer  had  been  boring  you, 
Aunt  Amy,"  Robert  said,  sitting  down  in  a  deep  chair. 

He  was  not  really  related,  but  being  so  frequently  at  the 
house  he  had  adopted  Lady  Carstairs  as  an  aunt  when  he 
was  still  at  school. 

"So  he  has,"  she  said.  She  was  wondering  whether  she 
should  tell  Amyas  of  this  fresh  disaster.  Really  Cathy  was 
becoming  more  and  more  of  a  problem. 

"I  hate  the  brute,"  Robert  spoke  frankly.  "Can't  he  be 
got  rid  of  ?" 

"He  has  just  brought  Cathy  back,"  Lady  Carstairs  said 
faintly. 

Amyas  sat  up,  openly  disquieted. 

"Brought  her  out  of  Danielli's  lions'  den  ?  My  dear  Aunt 
Amy,  it's  black  magic.  When  I  last  saw  Cathy  she  was 
babbling  of  dead  people  on  the  sideboard,  and  the  regenera- 
tion of  the  slums.  What  argument  did  he  use  ?" 

"It's  worse  than  that,  Robert,"  Lady  Carstairs  said  miser- 
ably, "far  worse.  She  has  come  back  engaged  to  him." 

Something  seemed  to  happen  to  Amyas.  He  altered 
under  Aunt  Amy's  eyes,  and  his  face  looked  very  nearly 
strong. 

"How  damnable,"  he  said,  staring  at  the  floor. 

"I  haven't  seen  Cathy  yet.  I  fear  there  will  be  a  great 
deal  of  trouble.  Twyford  is  in  London,  but  he  isn't  ever 
able  to  manage  her.  I  will  send  for  him,  of  course;  he  ought 
to  know." 

"Twyford  is  a  good  fellow — one  wouldn't  mind  if  it  were 
he,"  Amyas  said,  as  though  answering  some  question  he  had 
put  to  himself.  "Look  here,  Aunt  Amy,  I've  been  in  love 
with  Cathy  for  a  long  time ;  even  before  Lilian  hooked  it, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  127 

I  suppose.  Of  course  I  know  that  she  has  no  use  for  me, 
and  she  is  right ;  but  I'm  not  abusing  Lorrimer  out  of  spite. 
I  know  the  man  is  a  sham.  If  he  marries  Cathy  he  will 
show  himself  sooner  or  later,  and  the  worst  of  him  is  that 
he  is  a  pious  fraud.  The  kind  of  blighter  who  persuades 
himself  that  he's  righteous.  If  Cathy  marries  him,"  he  got 
up  and  stood  before  Lady  Carstairs,  "God  only  knows  what 
will  come  out  of  it.  I  have  felt  this  coming." 

Robert  was  so  sincere  in  his  speech  that  he  added  a  thou- 
sandfold to  Lady  Carstairs'  sense  of  doom.  She  looked 
white  and  scared  and  her  pale  eyes  were  full  of  alarm. 

"Cathy  is  so  headstrong,"  she  said  helplessly,  "so  self- 
willed." 

"She  isn't  in  love  with  Lorrimer;  that's  one  blessing," 
Amyas  said.  "She  can't  be;  no  woman  could.  It  is,  as 
you  say,  impulse,  and  he  has  taken  a  dog's  advantage  of 
her." 

"Hush!"  said  Lady  Carstairs  quickly,  and  turned  to  the 
door  as  Cathy  came  in. 

Cathy  looked  so  much  herself,  so  normal  and  so  natural, 
that  she  felt  reassured.  It  was  not  possible  that  she  really 
meant  to  ally  herself  with  this  rich,  coarse-grained  man, 
who  was  neither  of  the  people  nor  of  her  own  kind. 

"Has  Jack  gone?"  she  asked  carelessly,  holding  out  one 
finger  to  Robert  and  laughing  at  him  as  she  did  so.  "Rob- 
ert, what  a  face !  Take  it  off  at  once." 

"Colonel  Lorrimer  left  some  time  ago,"  her  aunt  replied. 
"I  see  you  have  changed,  Cathy.  I  think  I  will  go  and  get 
ready  for  dinner.  We  could  have  it  a  little  earlier  than 
usual." 

When  her  aunt  had  gone  Cathy  turned  to  Amyas. 

"I'm  going  to  be  married,  Robert,"  she  said.  "I  sup- 
pose that  Jack  broke  the  awful  news  to  Aunt  Amy,  and 
that  she  then  passed  it  on  to  you  ?" 

"She  did  tell  me." 

He  sat  down  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  and  looked  at  her. 

"We've  been  friends  for  a  long  time,"  he  said,  "and  it 
gives  me  a  right  to  speak  out.  You've  always  spoken  out 
where  I  am  concerned." 


128  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Speak  out,"  Cathy  said,  looking  up  at  him.  "I  have  had 
a  heap  of  plain  speech  lately  and  I'm  growing  used  to  it." 

"I  think  this  idea  of  yours  is  simply  atrocious."  Amyas 
got  up  and  stood  irresolutely  between  the  fire-place  and  the 
chair  where  Cathy  was  sitting.  "It  is  wrong,  Cath;  the 
kind  of  thing  which  sets  one's  teeth  on  edge.  Lorrimer  is 
an  outsider ;  oh,  I  know  he  covers  it  up  as  best  he  can,  but 
the  man  is  a  bounder." 

"You  aren't  extraordinarily  tactful,"  she  said  idly.  "I 
should  hardly  describe  you  as  a  diplomatist." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  diplomatic.  If  I  were,  you'd  know 
jolly  well  that  I  was  humbugging  you.  Cut  it,  Cathy,  end 
it  now." 

Cathy  said  nothing  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  she 
spoke  very  quietly. 

"I  know  that  I  have  not  thought  it  over  very  much,"  she 
said,  "but  that  doesn't  matter.  It  came  as  a  real  inspira- 
tion. Uprightness,  cleanheartedness,  good  faith  are  not  so 
easy  to  find;  and,  Robert,  when  you  think  of  your  own 
record,  aren't  you  a  little  ashamed  of  yourself?" 

Amyas  breathed  hard  and  said  nothing. 

"You  have  a  certain  pride  in  finer  class  distinctions,"  she 
went  on.  "Of  what  use  is  it  all,  and  what  is  it  worth  if 
there  is  neither  truth  nor  goodness  in  it?  If  Colonel  Lorri- 
mer feels  that  you  and  I  and  the  rest  of  us  have  an  inheri- 
tance, as  a  birthright  which  money  cannot  buy,  he  is  wrong, 
and  his  faith  in  us  misleads  him.  You  ask  me  to  hurt  him 
and  break  my  word.  I  can't  believe  that  you  are  so  petty 
and  so  small-minded." 

"It  is  not  only  that."  Amyas  collected  himself  quickly. 
"I  can't  really  explain  my  reasons.  They  are  like  your  own, 
a  matter  of  inspiration.  From  the  first  I  felt  that  Lorrimer 
was  out  to  marry  you,  and  that  he  would  manage  it  very 
well.  He  has  done  so,  and  oh,  Cathy,"  he  came  to  her  and 
caught  her  hands,  his  face  strained  and  earnest,  "I  don't 
trust  him  with  you.  He'll  do  something,  later  on,  which 
will  bring  you  trouble.  If  it  were  Twyford  I  shouldn't  talk 
like  this,  but  I  can't  trust  Lorrimer." 

"It's  no  use  arguing  with  you."     Cathy  smiled  quickly 


CATHY  ROSSITER  129 

and  shook  her  head  at  him.  "You  will  see  how  well  it  will 
work." 

Amyas  said  nothing  further,  and  Cutler  brought  in  a 
small  box  on  a  tray  which  he  handed  to  Cathy,  who  flushed 
suddenly  as  she  looked  at  the  address.  She  made  no  at- 
tempt to  open  the  parcel,  and,  signing  her  name  in  the  book, 
she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  was  lost  in  thought.  She 
hardly  appeared  to  know  when  Amyas  left,  and  Lady  Car- 
stairs  found  her  still  sitting  with  the  unopened  parcel  be- 
tween her  hands. 

"I  have  had  rather  an  unpleasant  interview  with  Colonel 
Lorrimer,"  she  said,  when  dinner  was  over  and  they  were 
alone  in  the  library,  where  they  usually  sat  when  no  guests 
were  expected.  "You  understand,  Cathy,  that  I  feel  this 
new  move  of  yours  very  much.  Twyford  has  always  been 
very  dear  to  me,  and  I  feel  that,  in  casting  him  aside,  you 
are  making  an  irrevocable  mistake." 

"I  knew  you  would  say  that."  Cathy  fiddled  with  the 
large  ring  on  her  ringer,  which  cast  stony  and  baleful  gleams 
towards  Aunt  Amy,  or  so  Aunt  Amy  felt.  "You  will  get 
used  to  the  idea,  and,  in  the  end,  you  will  feel  how  very 
dependable  and  strong  Jack  Lorrimer  is." 

"You  won't  do  anything  in  a  hurry,"  Lady  Carstairs  said 
pleadingly.  "Cathy  darling,  with  all  your  charm,  and  loving 
you  as  I  do,  I  know  your  greatest  weakness.  You  lack 
balance." 

Cathy  put  her  arms  round  her  aunt  and  sat  at  her  feet. 

"I  know  I  do,  and  you  can't  find  that  fault  with  Jack. 
He  is  as  steady  as  the  Dover  cliffs  or  St.  Paul's  Cathedral. 
What  I  lack,  he  makes  up  a  thousandfold.  I  think  I  shall 
be  very  safe  with  him,  dearest.  I  don't  pretend  that  I'm 
wildly  in  love,  I  never  have  been ;  and  so  I  can  judge  clearly. 
I  have  given  him  my  word." 

"Even  if  you  have,  you  gave  Twyford  an  understanding." 

"I  never  did,"  Cathy  leaned  back  on  her  knees  and  put  her 
hands  over  those  of  Lady  Carstairs;  "it  was  you,  and  all 
the  rest  of  you,  who  built  up  that  fiction.  I  wrote  to  Twy- 
ford directly  I  came  back  and  told  him  what  I  intend  to 
do." 


i3o  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Lady  Carstairs  sighed  deeply.  Twyford  might  put  up  a 
fight,  but  it  was  more  likely  that  he  would  just  go  away. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  said.  No  one  could  stop  the  mar- 
riage if  Cathy  had  determined  upon  it,  and  Lady  Carstairs 
had  no  further  objections  to  put  forward,  but  she  did  say 
one  thing  more. 

"What  will  poor  Monica  Henstock  do?  I  feel  sure  that 
she  had  every  reason  to  expect  that  Colonel  Lorrimer  in- 
tended to  marry  her.  You  and  she  used  to  be  such  friends." 

"Muggins?"  Cathy  looked  startled.  "Oh,  Aunt  Amy, 
you  are  quite  wrong.  Mug  and  Jack  are  old  friends,  noth- 
ing more,  and  I  think  she  will  be  very  glad." 

"Do  you,  indeed  ?"    Lady  Carstairs  shut  her  mouth  firmly. 

So  the  affair  raged  and  rang,  chiefly  out  of  Cathy's  hear- 
ing. Twyford  went  away  and  did  not  try  to  see  her  before 
leaving.  He  sent  her  a  wedding  present  and  left  it  af  that, 
and  Amyas  hung  about,  depressed  and  heavy-eyed.  He 
looked  wretchedly  dissipated  and  sulked  like  a  schoolboy. 
Lilian,  who  came  to  Cathy  to  discuss  affairs,  was  not  very 
enthusiastic.  She  was  able  to  see  flaws  in  Lorrimer,  and  she 
was  a  tried  and  trusted  friend  of  Twyford's.  He  had  seen 
her  before  he  left  London,  but  he  had  said  nothing  at  all 
about  Lorrimer.  She  respected  him  from  her  heart,  and  she 
doubted  the  wisdom  of  Cathy's  sudden  choice.  She  had 
also  been  to  see  Monica,  and  Monica  had,  as  she  told  An- 
thony upon  her  return,  received  her  with  open  hostility,  and 
had  been  in  a  savage  temper. 

"Monica  is  really  in  love  with  Jack  Lorrimer,"  Lilian  said, 
"and  she  is  positively  dangerous.  If  Cathy  was  ill,  and  she 
were  to  be  called  in,  I  think  she'd  poison  her." 

Everything  seemed  to  point  to  turmoil,  and  Cathy  was 
buffeted  for  her  faith,  but  the  more  she  was  buffeted  the 
more  determined  she  became.  She  would  believe  none  of 
the  stories  she  heard.  Twyford  would  get  over  it,  Monica 
had  written  her  a  sweet  and  affectionate  note,  in  which  she 
had  spoken  of  "her  Jack"  and  "her  Cathy,"  and  as  for  Miss 
Batten,  she  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  abstract  delight. 

The  wedding  was  to  take  place  in  June,  but  Cathy  was 


CATHY  ROSSITER  131 

too  much  employed  in  fencing  and  fighting  to  think  very 
definitely  of  what  lay  beyond.  They  had  all  done  their  best 
to  spoil  things,  and  Janey  Greenaway  had  come  to  say 
that  she  was  hopelessly  disappointed  in  Cathy.  She  had 
said  so  with  her  usual  honesty,  and  on  every  side  Cathy 
was  met  with  the  same  steady  attack.  A  fight  stimulated 
her,  and  she  was  also  busy  with  Lorrimer's  election. 

In  spite  of  her  avowed  friendship,  Monica  seemed  to  have 
dropped  out,  and  was  too  busy  to  lend  her  support,  but  she 
relinquished  Miss  Batten,  who  had  now  become  secretary 
to  Lorrimer  himself. 

Everything  seemed  jumbled  and  hurried.  The  election 
took  place  a  week  before  her  wedding,  and  Cathy  went  once 
or  twice  to  hear  Lorrimer  speak.  He  appeared  to  go  down 
with  his  hearers,  and  had  made  a  foundation-stone  of  the 
word  "Betterment."  As  Cathy  sat  in  the  packed  school- 
house,  where  he  addressed  his  constituents,  she  experienced 
a  strange  little  qualm  once  or  twice.  Lorrimer,  on  his  feet, 
was  just  a  little  like  Lorrimer  as  he  had  appeared  to  Aunt 
Amy  and  Robert,  and  even  though  he  became  a  little  flur- 
ried by  questions  hurled  at  him  from  various  corners  of 
the  room,  he  carried  through  quite  well. 

The  gardener  from  Kingslade  sat  well  in  the  front  and 
asked  questions  also,  with  a  slightly  suspicious  readiness, 
arising  out  of  the  fact  that  he  had  been  given  a  list  before- 
hand, and  put  them  at  intervals  in  a  good,  loud  voice,  and 
at  the  end,  when  Lady  Colebrook,  who  was  in  the  chair, 
asked  for  a  show  of  hands,  there  was  hardly  one  which 
was  not  raised  immediately  in  response. 

Cathy  was  motoring  back  to  London  after  tea,  and  the 
country  looked  fair  and  beautiful  in  the  June  sunlight.  The 
walls  of  Kingslade  were  decorated  with  posters,  all  giving 
reasons  why  the  constituents  should  vote  for  Lorrimer. 

"Vote  for  Lorrimer  and  Good  Housing."  "Vote  for 
Lorrimer  and  a  Living  Wage."  There  were  others  also. 
"Vote  for  Lorrimer  who  went  over  the  Top  for  you,"  sur- 
rounded by  a  variety  of  patterns  composed  out  of  green 
and  buff,  which  were  his  colours. 

Major  Hammersly,  J.P.,  whose  father  had  been  an  auc- 


i32  CATKY  ROSSITER 

tioneer,  was  Lorrimer's  right-hand  man,  and  Cathy  reflected, 
as  she  sped  through  the  wonderful  glory  of  the  evening, 
that  she  did  not  like  Major  Hammersly.  He  was  a  short, 
dark  man,  with  a  fluid,  eager  voice  and  heavy  lidded  eyes, 
and  he  seemed  to  know  too  much  about  everything.  She 
remarked  upon  him  to  Otho,  who  was  staying  at  Kingslade, 
and  was  the  only  member  of  the  family  who  entirely  ap- 
proved of  Cathy's  engagement. 

"He  is  damned  useful,  Cath,"  he  said;  "there  have  to  be 
Hammerslys  in  all  political  stunts.  He  does  the  dirty 
work." 

"I  hate  the  idea  of  there  being  dirty  work,"  she  said,  and 
her  eyes  were  distressed. 

In  her  short  experience  of  Danielli's  method  there  had 
been  a  great  deal  of  abusive  speech,  but  "dirty  work,"  as 
such,  was  not  needed.  Hammersly  had  discovered  that 
Trent,  the  Tory  candidate,  had  once  seduced  a  village  girl, 
and  he  made  the  most  of  it.  He  had  also  discovered  that 
the  Labour  candidate  had  been  mixed  up  in  a  contract 
scandal,  and  had  made  a  good  thing  out  of  the  tax-payers. 

"And  what  has  Hammersly  done  himself?"  Cathy  asked. 

"What  hasn't  he  done  would  be  nearer  it,"  Otho  said  with 
his  easy  cynicism.  "It's  best  not  to  inquire.  The  old  father 
was  really  a  money-lender,  and  the  son  is  climbing.  .  .  . 
Lorrimer  likes  him,"  he  added,  after  a  hardly  perceptible 
pause. 

Cathy  was  not  unhappy  as  she  sat  in  the  car,  but  she  was 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  malaise.  She  was  very  sure  of 
Lorrimer's  love  for  her,  and  it  rested  her;  encircling  her 
like  a  shadow  on  a  hot,  feverish  day.  In  return  for  all  he 
was  prepared  to  give,  she  wanted  to  be  just  the  Cathy  he 
expected  her  to  be.  The  prospect  seemed  a  very  happy  and 
untroubled  one,  and  yet,  somewhere  behind  it  all,  there  was 
a  tiny,  lurking  shadow.  She  explained  it  to  herself  simply 
enough.  Changes  are  always  touched  with  some  sense  of 
loss.  She  was  leaving  her  old  life  so  soon,  and  those  of  her 
household  who  had  loved  her  well  for  years  were  not  con- 
tent. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  was  not  myself,"  she  said  to  Otho  before 


ROSSITER  133 

she  left.  "I'm  some  one  new.  I've  been  taking  things  too 
seriously.  An  election  and  a  marriage,  one  on  the  top  of 
the  other,  is  a  weighty  business,  and  I  rather  want  to  run 
away  and  pull  my  hair  down  and  make  daisy-chains." 

Her  cousin  regarded  her  with  a  smile  and  began  to  whistle 
softly.  He  whistled  extremely  well,  and  he  performed  two 
bars  of  "My  true  love  hath  my  heart." 

"I'm  rather  glad  I'm  not  going  to  marry  you,"  he  said; 
"not  that  this  is  meant  in  an  uncomplimentary  way.  But 
does  Lorrimer  know  how  many  people  he  proposes  to  wed? 
The  Cathy  who  is  an  earnest  Christian,  the  other  who  is  a 
pagan,  the  next  who  loves  dancing,  and  the  one  who  wants 
to  sell  all  her  goods  and  give  to  the  poor  ?  The  Cathy  who 
is  an  imperialist  and  the  other  who  is  a  republican?  As 
for  all  the  rest,  the  hidden  Cathys,  who  must  in  due  time 
become  known  to  her  husband,  what  will  he  do  with  them 
all?  It  looks  as  though  only  a  polygamist  could  deal  with 
you." 

When  the  votes  were  counted,  Lorrimer's  name  headed 
the  poll  by  a  good  margin,  and  he  came  full  of  triumph  to 
tell  Cathy  the  news.  It  was  what  he  had  wanted  so  badly. 
He  wanted  to  stand  definitely  upon  his  own  feet  before  she 
became  his  wife,  and  to  feel  that  he  offered  her  something 
in  the  way  of  a  recognised  position.  Several  thousand  of 
his  fellow  countrymen  and  women  had  put  a  cross  beside 
his  name  on  their  voting  papers,  and  he  had  confidence  in 
himself  at  last.  He  had  never  allowed  anyone  else  to  guess 
the  tremors  he  had  suffered,  or  the  strain  it  had  all  been  on 
him.  Otho  had  not  the  least  idea  of  how  much  Lorrimer 
had  leant  upon  him,  and  probably  Major  Hammer  sly  was 
about  the  only  person  who  had  seen  through  the  implied 
indifference  of  Lorrimer's  manner. 

From  where  Lorrimer  stood,  he  felt  as  though  the  battle 
was  won,  and  he  rested  on  the  complete  satisfaction  of  that 
knowledge. 

Cathy  was  delighted,  though  not  surprised.  She  never 
had  any  misgivings  about  anything,  but  she  was  always  able 
to  rejoice  gloriously.  Even  Lady  Carstairs  seemed  less 
frigid,  and  appeared  to  think  that,  if  Lorrimer  could  sue- 


i34  CATHY  ROSSITER 

ceed  in  winning  an  election,  he  must  be  considerably  more 
able  than  she  fancied;  for  she  still  had  an  almost  supersti- 
tious faith  in  the  two  letters  M.P.  It  all  happened  at  an 
entirely  fortuitous  moment,  and  the  arrangements  for  the 
wedding,  which  had  dragged  heavily,  began  to  move  with 
a  sudden  verve  and  animation. 

Lorrimer  had  decided,  long  before,  to  bribe  the  brides- 
maids heavily,  and  he  doubled  the  sum  he  intended  to  pay 
for  the  pendants  which  were  to  be  his  gift.  With  regard  to 
Cathy,  he  had  to  be  careful ;  if  she  was  given  anything  very 
expensive,  it  was  quite  likely  that  she  would  return  it,  so 
he  chose  her  present  almost  prayerfully. 

One  thought  alone  bothered  him  perpetually.  Monica 
Henstock  had  behaved  wonderfully  well,  written  a  perfectly 
expressed  reply  to  his  letter,  and  had  been  friendly  and 
kind  when  they  met  some  days  later.  But  she  was  hurt, 
hurt  to  the  soul,  and  Lorrimer  minded  it  a  great  deal  more 
than  he  fancied  that  he  would.  He  would  never  marry 
Monica  now,  and  they  would  go  on  being  "pals,"  but  the 
change  was  there,  haggard  and  spectral.  Cathy  was  all  in 
all  to  him,  but  he  had  been — and  probably  was  still — all  in 
all  to  Monica.  He  put  her  away  from  his  thoughts,  but,  as 
a  kind  of  peace-offering,  he  ordered  quantities  of  flowers 
to  be  sent  to  her  twice  a  week,  until  she  herself  wrote  a 
short  line  asking  him  to  transfer  the  order  to  the  Children's 
Hospital  of  Mercy. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MARRIAGE,  that  blindfold  adventure,  was  embarked  upon 
by  Cathy  in  a  doubting  spirit,  but  her  doubts  and  her  mis- 
givings had  vanished  by  the  end  of  six  months.  Her  rest- 
lessness had  gone,  and  she  knew  a  contentment  of  mind 
which  had  never  been  hers  before.  Lorrimer  seemed  to 
understand  her  through  some  instinct,  and,  contrary  to  all 
prognostications,  Cathy  was  entirely  happy.  Her  life  was 
full  of  interest,  and  she  seemed  to  have  developed  into  a 
far  stronger  and  more  definite  woman  than  the  Cathy  of 
other  days  had  promised  to  be. 

Kingslade  Park  was  beautiful,  and  the  setting  suited  her 
to  perfection,  and  yet  the  beauty  and  grace  with  which  she 
was  surrounded  did  not  weigh  upon  her  conscience.  Life 
seemed  to  have  declared  that  her  path  was  to  be  a  path  of 
peace,  and  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  every  day 
and  every  hour  of  the  day,  from  either  Lorrimer  or  Bat- 
kins,  how  much  she  helped  everything  onwards.  It  was  al- 
most an  ideal  menage,  and  the  house  was  a  headquarters  for 
Progressives,  who  gathered  there  to  discuss  their  plans 
and  schemes  for  the  future. 

A  further  change  had  taken  place  in  the  early  Autumn, 
and  Cathy  awaited  the  arrival  of  a  son  with  wild  enthusi- 
asm. Of  course  it  would  be  a  son,  and  she  and  Lorrimer 
talked  together  over  all  that  they  would  do,  to  build  for 
him,  and  start  him  with  the  right  ideas.  Monica  had  re- 
turned again,  and  was  frequently  at  Kingslade  when  her 
work  permitted,  and  there  was  literally  nothing  amiss  in  a 
best  of  all  possible  worlds.  Lady  Carstairs,  whose  original 
attitude  towards  Lorrimer  had  been  about  as  encouraging 
as  a  north  wind  on  a  snowy  day.  altered  gradually,  until  it 
became  evident  that  she  both  admired  and  liked  him;  in 
fact,  the  sole  adversary  that  he  now  had  was  Robert  Amyas. 


136  CATHY  ROSSITER 

There  were,  of  course,  little  things — very  little  things — 
which  affected  Cathy  in  her  state  of  health.  Her  dislike  for 
Hammersly  was  one,  and  could  not  be  controlled.  If  he 
came  into  the  room  she  left  it,  and  she  was  entirely  at  a  loss 
to  understand  why  her  husband  appeared  to  enjoy  his  so- 
ciety. Hammersly  made  no  effort  to  placate  her  after  the 
first  month  or  two,  and  merely  effaced  himself,  but  he  stuck 
like  a  limpet,  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  he  was  really 
Lorrimer's  chosen  friend. 

Hammersly  only  laughed  his  deep,  amused  laugh,  and 
said  that  he  admired  Mrs.  Lorrimer  enormously,  through 
a  telescope;  but  the  general  atmosphere  of  the  house  was 
that  of  unity. 

February  came  in  cold  and  bleak,  and  the  lake  in  front 
of  Kingslade  Park  was  frozen.  Bitter  days  succeeded  one 
another,  and  Cathy  grew  petulant  and  irritable.  She  hated 
being  shut  up  in  the  house,  and  Lorrimer  fussed  over  her 
too  much.  Her  room  looked  out  over  the  lake,  and  its 
warmth  and  the  gay  hot-house  flowers  which  were  placed 
in  tall  vases  ceased  to  please  her  eyes.  Everything  in  the 
room  had  been  chosen  with  attention  and  care;  the  deep 
sofa  where  she  had  been  sitting  was  covered  with  silk,  purple 
and  gold,  and  the  violet  carpet  was  soft  under  her  feet. 
Outside,  the  day  was  clear,  with  the  cold,  diamond  clearness 
of  east  winds,  and  the  white  world  shone  with  aching  purity 
under  the  frigid  sunlight.  The  trees  stood  clear  and  distinct, 
their  tiniest  branches  rigid  in  the  frost,  and  the  ivy  along 
the  window-ledge  was  crusted  over  with  sparkles.  The 
world  outside  called  to  Cathy,  and  she  longed  impatiently 
to  respond  to  its  call.  Lorrimer  had  begged  of  her  not 
to  go  out ;  he  was  desperately  anxious  about  her  just  now. 
Gradually,  and  unknown  to  himself,  he  was  using  less  tact 
with  Cathy  than  he  had  at  first.  Not  that  he  ever  took 
anything  for  granted,  but,  insensibly,  he  had  become  the 
possessor  of  the  woman  he  loved.  She  told  him  that  she 
wanted  to  go  out,  and  he  said  that  she  was  to  remain  within 
doors.  Monica  was  expected  at  the  week-end,  and  he  felt 
safe  the  moment  she  put  her  foot  over  the  threshold.  But 
it  was  necessary  that  he  should  definitely  assert  himself. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  137 

"Where  are  you  going,  Jack?"  Cathy  asked  him,  as  he 
stood,  buttoned  up  to  the  chin,  in  a  thick  frieze  coat,  his  fur 
gloves  in  his  hands. 

"I  have  to  go  to  Haslemere,"  he  replied;  "Hammersly  is 
coming  with  me.  I  want  to  see  Rawnsley.  There  is  a  lot 
of  yapping  among  the  day  labourers  just  now." 

Cathy  had  been  reading  a  letter,  and  she  tore  it  up  and 
made  it  into  paper  pellets  which  she  began  to  throw  at 
Lorrimer. 

"I'm  not  nearly  as  good  a  shot  as  I  used  to  be,"  she  re- 
marked, "I've  missed  you  twice,  fat  man,  and  that  is  bad 
shooting." 

"Will  you  be  sensible  ?"  he  asked  a  little  irritably.  "Give 
me  your  word  that  you  won't  go  out.  It's  as  slippery  as 
glass,  and  it  might  be  very  dangerous." 

"Why  are  you  taking  Major  Hammersly?  I  don't  like 
him." 

Cathy  was  in  a  provocative  mood,  and  she  played  idly  with 
the  fur  trimming  on  her  dress.  "He  should  be  in  a  pawn- 
shop, Jack,  grinding  the  faces  of  the  poor.  Send  him  away, 
back  to  Jerusalem." 

"Don't  be  so  unfair,"  Lorrimer  replied  with  a  hint  of 
retort.  "I  owe  a  great  deal  to  Hammersly.  He  was  in- 
valuable at  the  election.  Trent  ran  me  close  enough  as  it 
was." 

"Oh,  I  remember."  Cathy  leaned  back  and  looked  at 
the  fire.  "Hammersly  discovered  a  scandal.  I  like  him 
none  the  better  for  it,  if  that  is  your  reason." 

Lorrimer  came  behind  her  and  put  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders,  bending  down,  while  she  looked  up  at  his  face. 

"Are  you  going  to  promise  me  to  stay  in  to-day?" 

"How  funny  your  face  looks  upside  down,"  Cathy 
laughed.  "Two  chins,  Jack — you  are  putting  on  weight, 
and  your  mouth — when  first  I  saw  you  I  didn't  like  your 
mouth — your  nose  looks  too  small  from  this  end  of  you.  It 
gets  the  perspective  wrong,  and  you  aren't  yourself." 

He  pulled  himself  up  at  once,  and  stared  through  the 
window. 

"If  you  have  nothing  else  to  say,"  he  replied,  "let  us 


138  CATHY  ROSSITER 

leave  it  at  that,  but  you  know  what  I  feel,"  and  he  swung 
out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"Jack,"  she  called  after  him,  repentant  at  once,  but  he 
did  not  hear  her,  and  a  few  minutes  later  she  saw  the  car 
going  down  the  cleared  space  along  the  avenue,  with  Lorri- 
mer  and  Hammersly  sitting  together  in  the  back,  and  the 
hood  down.  They  were  laughing  and  talking  with  the  close 
intimacy  of  two  men  who  are  very  good  friends. 

Something  in  the  picture  she  had  seen  aggravated  Cathy. 
Hammersly  was  intrinsically  "wrong,"  and  Lorrimer  did  not 
seem  to  be  aware  of  it.  Twyford  would  not  have  endured 
Hammersly  for  five  minutes,  and  Robert  Amyas  would  pos- 
sibly have  endured  him  and  even  have  been  entertained  by 
his  Rabelaisian  stories,  but  he  would  have  known  exactly 
the  man  he  really  was.  Lorrimer  knew  his  wife's  opinion 
of  his  friend,  but,  even  so,  he  made  him  perpetually  wel- 
come at  Kingslade. 

She  turned  to  the  door  which  led  to  her  bedroom,  and, 
ringing  for  her  maid,  Cathy  dressed  quickly  in  a  thick  fur 
coat  and  cap,  and  went  down  the  staircase  and  out  into  the 
clear,  ringing  world  outside.  She  had  no  special  purpose 
in  her  walk;  what  she  wanted  was  air,  and  any  sense  of 
being  locked  in  made  her  miserable.  A  sheltered  walk  led 
through  a  shrubbery  and  out  into  the  village,  and  she  chose 
this  path  as  being  preferable  to  the  avenue,  feeling  her  re- 
cent depression  lifted  from  her  as  she  went  slowly  under 
the  lace-like  tracery  of  the  overhead  branches.  Kingslade 
Park  stood  only  a  very  short  way  out  of  the  village,  and 
the  gates  actually  opened  on  to  the  street.  A  wall  sur- 
rounded the  demesne,  and  Cathy  had  the  key  of  a  small  ' 
entrance  at  the  end  of  the  shrubbery.  Through  this  door 
you  came  out  on  to  the  main  road,  and  a  little  footpath, 
higher  than  the  road,  ran  for  some  miles  south  of  Kingslade. 

Having  walked  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  Cathy  began 
to  wonder  if  she  ought  to  turn  back.  She  was  feeling  tired, 
and  already  her  first  joy  in  the  clearness  of  the  day  was  less 
intense.  The  road  was  lonely,  and  there  was  no  one  in  sight 
except  the  distant  figure  of  a  man,  walking  rapidly,  and 
swinging  a  stick  as  he  went ;  he  was  only  a  tiny  figure  at  a 


CATHY  ROSSITER  139 

long  distance  off,  and  Cathy  turned  to  retrace  the  path  to 
the  shrubbery  gate  just  as  he  came  in  sight.  Then  Cathy's 
foot  slipped  on  the  melted  snow,  turning  under  her,  and  she 
slid  helplessly  down  the  bank,  which  was  steep  at  that  point, 
with  a  sick  feeling  of  pain.  Her  foot  was  in  agony,  and  she 
could  not  stir,  but  lay  there  in  a  piled  heap  of  soft  furs,  her 
face  white  and  her  lips  parted.  An  overwhelming  sense  of 
dread  assailed  her  as  she  lay  there.  Was  life  always  like 
this?  One  did  something,  quite  a  natural  thing  to  do  it 
might  be,  and  the  result  was  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  act. 
What  had  she  done,  not  only  to  herself,  but  to  the  child  of 
whom  she  was  guardian?  The  pain  she  suffered  was  too 
acute  to  let  her  think  clearly,  and  all  that  she  was  then 
aware  of  was  the  sound  of  footsteps  running  over  the  snow. 
She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  up  as  a  man  bent  over 
her,  and  she  recognised  Barlow.  He  knelt  beside  her,  his 
face  full  of  alarm  and  consideration  for  her,  and  raised 
her  gently. 

"Don't  make  the  least  effort,"  he  said  quietly;  "just  lean 
on  me,  Mrs.  Lorrimer." 

"I  believe  I've  sprained  my  ankle,"  she  said  as  she  strug- 
gled to  rise,  and  Barlow  could  feel  that  she  was  trembling 
violently. 

He  said  nothing,  but,  putting  his  arm  round  her,  gave  her 
the  support  of  his  lean,  wiry  strength. 

"I  shouldn't  try  to  talk.  How  far  is  it  to  the  house?" 
he  asked. 

"Not  very  far,  at  least  it  usen't  to  be,"  she  said  with  a 
pathetic  effort  at  her  old  way  of  saying  things ;  "only  now 
it's  miles  and  miles." 

Still  holding  her  in  his  arms,  he  looked  at  her,  and  thought 
rapidly. 

"If  I  leave  you  here  and  get  a  carriage  it  will  take  time. 
I  think  I'd  better  carry  you  as  far  as  I  can." 

Cathy  was  taken  with  another  shivering  fit. 

"Don't  go  away,"  she  said  desperately.  "But  you  can't 
carry  me.  I'll  see  how  I  get  on." 

Very  slowly  they  made  their  way  forward,  each  step 
paved  with  pain  for  Cathy;  and  Barlow  looked  up  and 


i4o  CATHY  ROSSITER 

down  the  road  praying  that  some  conveyance  would  come 
in  sight;  but  the  roads  were  heavy  with  deep  snow  and  no 
one  was  about.  It  seemed  as  though  an  eternity  passed 
before  they  gained  the  side  door,  and  Barlow  cleaned  the 
snow  off  a  rustic  seat  in  the  shrubbery  and  put  her  on  it, 
sitting  on  his  coat.  He  wore  no  overcoat,  and  did  not  ap- 
pear to  feel  the  cold,  as  he  stood  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and 
talked  to  her  as  though  he  was  admonishing  a  child. 

"I  shan't  be  gone  ten  minutes,  and  I'll  bring  something  to 
take  you  to  the  house,"  he  said  firmly.  "Try  not  to  faint 
while  I'm  gone." 

"You  are  good  to  me,"  she  said  helplessly;  "I  won't 
faint." 

The  situation  was  bizarre  and  almost  grotesque,  when 
she  remembered  how  they  had  parted,  and  Barlow  nodded 
at  her  encouragingly  and  began  to  run  towards  the  house. 

The  sight  of  a  very  unusual  looking  man,  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, caused  a  stir  in  the  stable  quarters  of  Kingslade 
Park,  and  Barlow  gave  his  orders  with  fierce  abruptness. 

"Have  you  anything  you  can  take  down  the  shrubbery 
path?"  he  asked.  "Mrs.  Lorrimer  has  sprained  her  ankle 
and  can't  walk.  Look  alive,  man,"  he  spoke  to  the  head 
gcoom,  "and  get  going.  She  may  have  fainted." 

There  was  something,  a  small  governess  cart  and  a  pony, 
used  by  Miss  Batten,  that  could  be  brought  at  once,  and, 
without  waiting  to  hear  further,  Barlow  turned  away  again 
and  ran  back  to  where  he  had  left  Cathy  sitting  on  the  seat 
near  the  gate.  She  seemed  very  ill,  he  thought,  and  he 
could  only  hold  her  hands  and  try  to  encourage  her  to  bear 
the  pain  a  little  longer,  and  at  last  the  pony  trap  arrived, 
and,  with  the  help  of  the  groom,  Barlow  lifted  her  in.  He 
forgot  his  coat,  which  lay  on  the  seat,  and  walked  beside  the 
governess  cart,  his  mind  greatly  troubled. 

"Is  Colonel  Lorrimer  in  the  house?"  he  asked  the  groom, 
who  replied  that  he  was  away ;  and  Barlow  muttered  under 
his  breath.  There  seemed  to  be  no  head  of  affairs  anywhere, 
and  the  servants  were  all  hopelessly  scared  and  useless. 
When  Cathy  was  brought  in,  Barlow  carried  her  up  to  her 
room,  and,  followed  by  the  maid,  helped  to  lay  her  on  the 


CATHY  ROSSITER  141 

sofa  by  the  fire.  She  was  slightly  delirious,  he  thought,  and 
he  asked  for  the  name  of  the  nearest  doctor. 

"Dr.  Henstock  always  comes  if  there  is  illness,"  the  maid 
said  in  an  agitated  whisper.  "Perhaps  Mrs.  Watney,  the 
housekeeper,  knows  of  someone  in  the  place." 

"Send  for  her,"  said  Barlow  briefly. 

Mrs.  Watney  came  in  response  to  the  summons,  and 
wrung  her  hands  desperately  over  Cathy's  prostrate  form. 

"It  will  be  the  death  of  her,"  she  said,  "the  death  of 
her." 

"Don't  be  such  a  bloody  fool,"  Barlow  said  roughly. 
"Where  is  the  nearest  doctor?" 

"There  is  Dr.  Townley,  in  the  market-square,"  Mrs. 
Watney  replied  in  affronted  tones.  She  had  begun  to  wonder 
who  this  man,  who  looked  like  a  gentlemanly  tramp,  could 
be.  "He  hadn't  even  a  coat  to  his  back,"  she  said,  when 
describing  the  interview  later. 

"Send  one  of  the  men,  and  tell  him  to  take  a  trap  and 
bring  back  a  doctor.  If  he  doesn't  come  back  with  one 
inside  an  hour  I'll  break  his  ruddy  neck." 

Barlow  walked  out  of  the  room  and  paced  the  corridor. 
He  saw  the  danger  ahead  of  Cathy,  and  he  could  hear  her 
moaning,  and  talking  in  wild  sentences,  as  her  trouble  be- 
came more  acute.  It  seemed  as  though  the  doctor  would 
never  come,  and  at  last  Barlow  went  downstairs  and  stood 
on  the  steps. 

Someone  was  coming  at  last,  and  in  a  car.  His  hopes 
were  raised  at  once.  Perhaps  the  doctor  had  been  starting 
out,  and  had  wasted  no  time;  but  as  the  car  came  nearer 
it  disclosed  the  fact  that  Colonel  Lorrimer  himself  was 
returning  home. 

Lorrimer's  surprise  and  annoyance  at  seeing  Barlow  on 
the  steps  was  unbounded.  He  looked  wild,  and  he  had  not 
the  smallest  right  to  be  there,  but  he  shouted  at  Lorrimer 
directly  he  came  within  ear-shot. 

"Turn  the  car  round  and  fetch  the  doctor,"  he  said. 
"Your  wife  is  ill,  and  there  isn't  anyone  here  with  as  much 
-as  a  head  on  their  shoulders." 


142  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Lorrimer  paid  no  attention;  he  got  out  and  came  up 
the  steps,  his  face  flushed  and  his  manner  affronted. 

"What  the  hell  are  you  doing  here?"  he  said,  and  he 
made  a  slight  movement  with  his  arm. 

"I  tell  you,  man,  your  wife  is  ill.  Can't  you  forget  your- 
self for  a  minute  ?  I  found  her  in  the  road  with  a  sprained 
ankle,  and  now  it's  likely  to  be  worse  than  that." 

"You  must  have  frightened  her."  Lorrimer  caught  Bar- 
low by  the  shoulder.  "Get  out." 

Barlow  extricated  himself  quickly  and  laughed. 

"Not  now,  though  I'll  hammer  you  yet,  Lorrimer;  not 
now.  At  present  it  is  a  question  of  time.  Are  you  going 
or  am  I?" 

Lorrimer  hesitated  for  a  second.  The  choice  was  abomin- 
ably difficult.  Cathy  was  ill,  how  ill  he  could  only  guess, 
and,  for  some  perfectly  unaccountable  reason,  Barlow  ap- 
peared to  be  in  command.  If  he  went,  he  left  Barlow  in  this 
strange  attitude  of  possession,  and,  if  he  sent  him  off  in  the 
ear,  it  made  things  equally  uncomfortable. 

"As  you  don't  seem  to  know  what  you  mean  to  do,  I'm 
going,"  Barlow  said,  solving  the  problem  himself  and  climb- 
ing into  the  front  seat  of  the  car,  while  he  wrapped  a  rug, 
which  had  been  thrown  over  the  cushions,  around  his 
shoulders.  "Drive  to  the  nearest  doctor,"  he  said  sharply, 
turning  to  the  chauffeur,  who  had  watched  the  whole  scene 
with  impenetrable  indifference,  and  who  now  prepared  to 
do  his  bidding  silently,  while  Lorrimer  walked  into  the 
house. 

Lorrimer  was  furiously  angry,  behind  a  fairly  well  as- 
sumed appearance  of  control,  and  he  passed  through  a  ring 
of  servants,  who  scurried  away  at  his  approach,  with  the 
exception  of  Mrs.  Watney,  who  bowed,  and  stood  with 
folded  hands  to  give  her  report.  She  had  been  called  a 
"bloody  fool"  by  an  unknown  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and 
it  affected  her  very  much  more  than  anything  else,  colour- 
ing her  whole  story.  There  was  no  real  account  of  what 
had  happened.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  had  gone  out  soon  after 
Lorrimer  left,  and  the  next  thing  the  household  became 
aware  of  was  that  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  ill,  and  had  come  back 


CATHY  ROSSITER  143 

with  the  unknown  man — "or  perhaps  I  ought  to  call  him 
'gentleman,' "  Mrs.  Watney  said  with  acid  emphasis.  She 
did  not  say  in  so  many  words  that  she  blamed  Barlow  for 
the  whole  trouble,  but  she  conveyed  the  impression  that 
she  felt  something  very  terrible  had  occurred,  and  that 
Barlow  was  certainly  responsible. 

"She  must  have  had  an  awful  fright,"  she  repeated, 
"and  now  we  must  only  'ope  and  pray." 

However,  she  had  done  more  than  hope  and  pray,  and 
had  sent  another  emissary  to  Kingslade  with  a  telegram  to 
be  dispatched  to  Monica  Henstock,  asking  her  to  come  at 
once. 

Lorrimer  heard  her  out,  and  went  up  the  staircase.  The 
whole  thing  was  a  desperate  shock  to  him,  and  he  felt  dimly 
that  everything  was  at  stake.  His  child,  his  wife,  both 
were  in  imminent  danger,  and  through  Cathy's  own  folly. 
What,  in  God's  name,  could  excuse  such  foolhardiness  upon 
her  part,  and  how  had  Barlow  come  into  the  story?  He 
remembered  that  Barlow  had  worried  Cathy;  she  admitted 
it  to  him  once,  when  he  had  asked  her  about  her  visit  to 
Hammersmith,  and  .  .  .  He  stood  outside  the  door  and 
listened  to  the  ceaseless  moaning  from  within.  It  was  awful, 
and  the  sweat  gathered  on  his  forehead.  He  couldn't  think 
of  Barlow  now,  for  Cathy  was  in  danger — she  might  even 
slip  away  into  the  far  off  land  of  shadows  and  be  lost  to 
him  for  ever.  If  Barlow  was  accountable  in  any  way  for 
this,  he  felt  that  he  would  kill  him. 

If  only  Monica  were  there,  she  would  know  what  to 
do ;  that  thought  bore  him  company  as  he  sat  beside  Cathy's 
bed  and  looked  at  her  marred,  anguished  face.  If  only 
someone  would  come.  He  began  to  long  for  the  sound  of 
Barlow's  voice  again ;  Barlow  would  be  sure  to  get  hold  of 
a  doctor ;  he  would  compel  any  doctor  to  come  with  him,  if 
he  had  to  do  it  by  main  force. 

Time  dragged  intolerably,  and  Mrs.  Watney  begged  of 
him  to  go  away,  for  he  seemed  to  make  Cathy  worse,  and 
so  he  left  her  reluctantly;  and  as  he  sat  in  the  library,  his 
eyes  on  the  clock,  he  heard  the  sound  of  the  car  returning 
up  the  avenue. 


i44  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Barlow,  draped  about  in  a  fox-skin  rug,  came  into  the 
room,  dragging  a  man  by  the  arm.  It  was  not  Doctor  Town- 
ley,  but  an  obscure  little  general  practitioner  from  a  poor 
quarter  of  the  village.  A  wretched  little  creature  with  a 
battered  face  and  a  highly  suspicious  appearance  of  having 
drunk  a  great  deal  of  gin  in  his  life-time. 

"I've  brought  Doctor "  Barlow  turned  to  the  man, 

"What's  your  name  ?" 

"Luke,"  replied  the  doctor  jerkily,  "Thomas  Luke." 

"Well,  he's  the  best  I  could  get,  and  he  knows  more  than 
that  ass  of  a  housekeeper.  Bring  him  up,'' 

Lorrimer  obeyed,  and  led  Dr.  Luke  away.  He  felt  no 
sort  of  confidence  in  him,  but,  as  Barlow  had  said,  he  was 
better  than  no  one. 

Barlow  threw  the  rug  on  to  the  ground  and  walked  into 
the  hall.  No  one  was  about,  and  he  saw  that  the  car  was 
still  waiting.  He  walked  down  the  steps  and  spoke  to  the 
chauffeur. 

"I'm  off,"  he  said,  "but  I  shall  be  staying  at  the  Kings- 
lade  Arms.  If  you  are  anything  of  a  good  fellow,  you  might 
call  in  there  to-night  and  ask  for  me.  I  want  to  know  what 
has  happened,"  he  jerked  his  head  towards  the  house.  "You 
understand?  Ask  for  George  Barlow." 

"Righto,"  said  the  chauffeur  briefly;  "I  suppose  I'll  wait 
to  take  back  the  gin  cask  we've  just  left?" 

"You'll  be  told  what  to  do."  Barlow  rubbed  his  arms, 
for  the  wind  was  wintry  and  cold. 

"I'll  lend  you  a  coat,"  added  the  chauffeur;  "there's  one 
inside  the  garage  door  if  you  like  to  borrow  it" 

"Thanks,"  Barlow  said,  with  a  nod;  "my  own  is  in  the 
shrubbery.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  sitting  on  it,"  and  he 
walked  rapidly  away. 

The  chauffeur  watched  him  in  silent  astonishment.  He 
had  taken  off  his  coat  for  Mrs.  Lorrimer  to  sit  on ;  a  funny 
kind  of  game  on  a  February  day,  and  a  queer  sort  of 
lunatic  for  Mrs.  Lorrimer  (whom  he  always  alluded  to  as 
"Moddam")  to  sit  out  of  doors  with.  He  felt  that  he 
would  drop  in  at  the  "Arms"  just  to  have  another  look 


CATHY  ROSSITER 

at  Barlow,  whom  he  fully  suspected  of  being  a  gentle- 
man, in  spite  of  appearances. 

It  was  late  before  Monica  arrived,  and  by  the  time  she 
got  to  Kingslade  Park  the  village  nurse  and  Doctor  Luke, 
between  them,  had  managed  to  pull  Cathy  through  the  deep 
waters.  Only  Cathy;  for  the  small  life  which  was  to  have 
meant  so  much  never  even  flickered  in  this  gusty  world, 
where  no  one  can  tell  why  it  is  that  some  live  and  others  die. 

Monica  and  the  London  nurse  made  a  strange  contrast 
to  Doctor  Luke,  with  his  blazing,  red  £ace,  and  the  fat, 
rather  sly-looking  woman  who  was  his  colleague,  but  it  was 
they  who  had  saved  Cathy's  life.  Lorrimer  sat  in  the 
library  and  pretended  to  read,  but  when  Monica  came  down- 
stairs and  they  went  into  the  dining-room  to  eat  a  belated 
dinner,  he  let  himself  go. 

Until  his  hopes  were  dashed  to  the  ground  he  had  not 
known  how  much  he  had  counted  upon  the  child,  and  he 
could  not  dissociate  his  overwhelming  disappointment  from 
Cathy's  deliberate  disobedience  of  his  express  wishes. 

"I  told  her  not  to  go  out,"  he  said  again  and  again  to 
Monica,  as  they  sat  at  their  tcte-a-tete  meal ;  for  Miss  Bat- 
ten had  her  own  rooms  and  did  not  join  the  family,  and 
at  that  moment  she  was  sobbing  on  her  bed.  Memory 
had  attacked  her  with  spear  and  sword,  and  she  felt  stricken 
to  the  earth. 

"Cathy  is  hopelessly  careless,"  Monica  said,  frowning. 
"There  is  no  use  expecting  reasonable  conduct  from  her." 

"She  nearly  killed  herself  as  well,"  Lorrimer  went  on, 
his  hands  shaking  as  he  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  port. 
"How  is  she?" 

"Frightfully  weak.  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  she  is 
better." 

"Has  she  said  what  happened  ?"  he  asked. 

Monica  looked  at  Lorrimer  guardedly.  She  had  come  to 
a  kind  of  "second  blooming"  in  the  matter  of  looks,  and 
she  seemed  very  serene  and  handsome  in  the  shaded  light. 

"Not  yet,"  she  said,  flickering  her  eyelids.  "I  know 
nothing  of  the  facts.  Doctor  Luke — what  a  dreadful  per- 


i46  CATHY  ROSSITER 

son  he  is,  Jack! — told  me  that  a  friend  of  yours  had 
fetched  him  here  in  a  wild  state  of  excitement." 

"A  friend.  Good  God!"  Lorrimer  gave  a  short  laugh. 
''It  was  that  fellow  Barlow.  Cathy  met  him,  I  don't  know 
where,  nor  do  I  know  whether  she  intended  to  do  so.  I 
know  nothing." 

"George  Barlow?  Oh!"  Monica  gave  a  great  deal  of 
emphasis  to  the  word. 

"When  I  got  back  he  was  on  the  steps,"  Lorrimer  said, 
and  his  rage  sounded  in  his  voice  as  he  told  Doctor  Hen- 
stock  the  story. 

For  some  time  Monica  was  silent,  and  her  silence  affected 
Lorrimer  and  made  him  restless. 

"Why  don't  you  speak?"  he  said  at  last. 

"I  was  thinking  of  what  you  told  me,"  she  replied  cau- 
tiously. "You  must  not  expect  Cathy  to  be  quite  like 
other  people.  You  see,  Jack" — she  leaned  forward  a  little, 
and  some  of  their  old  intimacy  returned  quite  suddenly — 
*'I  know  Cathy  very  much  longer,  and,  in  some  ways, 
better  than  you  do.  She  has  always  had  a  fancy  for  ex- 
tremists, and  she  has  a  way  of  making  her  own  actions 
appear  justifiable  to  herself.  Do  you  remember  how  very 
lightly  she  took  the  question  of  giving  that  emerald  and 
diamond  brooch  to  Danielli?  It  was  not  hers,  but  she 
gave  it  without  so  much  as  a  thought." 

"I  remember,"  Lorrimer  said  grimly;  "she  has  an  elastic 
conscience  in  some  things." 

He  was  furious  with  his  wife,  for  he  would  never  have 
admitted  this  otherwise,  even  to  Muggins. 

"Barlow  is  a  man  who  has  a  remarkable  reputation  for 
his  persuasive  powers  where  women  are  concerned,"  Monica 
went  on  evenly.  "You  must  not  be  too  hard  on  Cathy,  she 
is  full  of  imagination  and  can  be  worked  upon.  He  may 
easily  have  persuaded  her  that  she  ought  to  see  him.  I 
can't  blame  her,  for  she  saw  it  as  a  very  natural  thing  to  do." 

"Natural  to  tell  me  nothing  about  it?"  Lorrimer  looked 
down,  his  face  set  and  sulky.  "You  surely  don't  defend 
her  there?" 

"I  don't  know."     She  stared  at  the  fire.     "Cathy  has 


CATHY  ROSSITER  147 

always  believed  in  the  absolute  right  of  individual  choice. 
She  is  an  individual,  that  is  certain.  When  you  married 
her,  Jack,"  the  tiniest  little  ice  edge  touched  her  voice  as  she 
spoke,  "you  knew,  or  you  should  have  known,  that  you 
were  accepting  her  reservations  as  well  as  her  gifts."  She 
got  up  and  glanced  at  her  watch.  "I  shall  have  to  get 
back  to-night,  and  you  had  better  arrange  for  Doctor  Town- 
ley  to  come  in  the  morning" — she  paused — "or  perhaps,  if 
you  will  send  the  car  for  me,  I  can  manage  the  case  myself." 

"Of  course  I'll  send  the  car" ;  he  was  anxious  and  nervous 
at  once.  "She  will  be  better  with  you,  Monica,  and  when 
she  is  able  to  listen  to  a  little  sense,  you  will  show  her  how 
criminally  selfish  she  has  been  over  this." 

Monica  pulled  on  her  coat,  which  was  lying  on  a  chair, 
and  held  out  her  hand. 

"Don't  make  too  much  of  it,"  she  said  helpfully.  "In  any 
case,  Cathy  will  be  out  of  any  chance  of  getting  into  scrapes 
for  some  time  to  come." 

"Weren't  you  to  have  taken  your  holiday?"  he  asked, 
still  holding  her  hand.  "Would  it  be  very  selfish  of  me  to 
ask  you  to  come  here  for  the  time?  I  want  you  so  badly 
just  now." 

"Come  here?"  Monica  looked  around  her  and  smiled, 
as  though  some  fleeting  memory  amused  her  ironically.  "I 
had  meant  to  go  to  Switzerland." 

And  then  her  eyes  returned  to  his  face.  All  the  things 
which  had  never  been  said  between  them  seemed  to  hold 
'them  both  silent,  and  at  last  she  broke  the  uncanny  spell 
and  spoke  in  her  cheerful,  professional  tones. 

"I  will  come  for  a  week,  and  see  how  she  gets  on,"  she 
said.  "Cathy  is  a  spoilt  child  and  wants  a  scolding;  but 
you  are  to  blame,  you  have  let  her  have  her  own  way 
always." 

"How  do  you  stop  a  woman  doing  what  she  wants?"  he 
asked  desperately,  and  Monica  smiled  again  but  said  nothing. 

When  she  had  gone,  Lorrimer  forgot  all  about  her.  He 
thought  of  his  ruined  hopes  and  of  Cathy's  wretched  du- 
plicity in  the  case  of  Barlow,  and  at  last  he  rang  the  bell 
and  sent  for  Mrs.  Watney. 


i48  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"I  only  know  what  I  told  you,  sir,"  the  housekeeper  said, 
pursing  up  her  lips  dubiously.  "The  yard  men  know  noth- 
ing more,  except  Jakes." 

"What  does  Jakes  know?"  Lorrimer  asked,  biting  the 
side  of  his  forefinger  and  looking  at  the  table. 

"The  gentleman  told  him  that  he  and  Mrs.  Lorrimer  had 
been  sitting  on  his  coat,  on  a  seat  in  the  shrubbery.  She 
took  the  key  with  her,  and,  I  suppose,  admitted  him  by  the 
side  gate."  Mrs.  Watney  spoke  ponderously.  "Consider- 
ing the  weather  and  the  state  of  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  'ealth " 

"You  may  go,  Mrs.  Watney,"  Lorrimer  said  ferociously, 
and  he  sat  for  a  long  time  alone  in  the  empty  dining-room. 

Cathy  had  made  a  rendezvous  with  Barlow,  that  was 
only  too  evident  now,  and  had  sat  in  the  woods  with  him. 
The  servants  were  talking,  and  Lorrimer  did  not  give  a 
thought  to  the  fact  that  his  own  conduct  was  adding  fuel 
to  the  fire.  He  did  not  suppose  for  a  second  that  Cathy 
was  encouraging  Barlow,  but  she  was  hopelessly  reckless, 
and  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  how  these  acts  were  ex- 
plained by  others.  She  had  struck  him  a  cruel  blow,  and 
had  put  her  own  life  in  danger,  merely  because  she  liked 
to  play  at  anarchy  with  a  man  of  Barlow's  type.  The  dis- 
loyalty of  it  was,  in  itself,  an  offence,  for  Barlow  was  there 
to  work  up  trouble  among  the  day  labourers.  Hammersly, 
who  knew  the  people  well,  said  that  the  agitation  was  en- 
gineered by  the  Danielli  crowd. 

He  was  still  thinking  of  his  wrongs  when  Hammersly  was 
shown  in,  and  Lorrimer  greeted  him  with  a  sense  of  relief. 
He  asked  for  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  and  sipped  at  a  glass  of  port, 
his  large,  liquid  eyes  devoid  of  any  special  expression.  Still 
Lorrimer  said  nothing. 

"I  hear  that  Barlow  is  in  our  midst,"  Hammersly  re- 
marked idly.  "He  is  calling  a  meeting  of  day  labourers 
to-morrow  to  draw  up  a  strike  programme.  What  a  pes- 
tilential nuisance  the  fellow  is." 

Lorrimer  lighted  a  cigar  and  looked  angrily  at  the  match 
he  held. 

"Where  is  the  blighter  ?"  he  asked. 

"At  the  Kingslade  Arms.     I  looked  in  on  my  way  here. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  149 

By  the  way,  he  appears  to  be  on  friendly  terms  with  Jakes ; 
they  were  sitting  together  in  the  room  behind  the  bar.  I 
didn't  know  that  he  was  bitten  by  the  Danielli  microbe." 

"Jakes  ?    He'd  better  look  out  or  he'll  get  the  sack." 

"Gently,  man,  gently."  Hammersly  laughed  his  musical 
laugh.  "If  you  throw  him  out  because  of  his  political 
opinions  you'll  have  dissatisfaction  among  the  men  here. 
They  are  very  touchy  these  times." 

"Were  they  talking  the  usual  slush?"  Lorrimer  asked 
sharply.  He  was  sure  that  Hammersly,  who  knew  every- 
thing, knew  more  than  he  had  said. 

"Not  so  far  as  I  could  gather.  In  fact,  Jakes  was  telling 
Barlow  that  Mrs.  Lorrimer  is,  happily,  out  of  immediate 
danger." 

A  flush  rose  to  Lorrimer's  hair  and  he  clenched  his  fists 
suddenly  in  an  uncontrollable  access  of  anger. 

"I  think  I'll  clear  out,"  Hammersly  said,  finishing  his 
port  and  getting  up  from  his  chair.  "I  shall  get  news  of 
Barlow's  activities  to-morrow,  but  there  is  trouble  ahead. 
Wherever  that  man  comes  he  brings  trouble."  He  glanced 
obliquely  at  Lorrimer  as  he  spoke.  "Hopelessly  untrust- 
worthy in  some  respects ;  you  understand  me  ?" 

"Oh,  I  understand  you,"  Lorrimer  replied,  with  a  sneer 
at  some  indistinct  object  of  anger,  and  he  hardly  answered 
Hammersly's  friendly  good  night,  or  his  hopes  for  Cathy's- 
swift  recovery  to  health. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

As  the  days  went  by  and  Monica  established  herself  at 
Kingslade  Park,  Lor  rimer  began  to  evolve  a  course  of  ac- 
tion. He  did  not  know  how  far  Doctor  Henstock  influenced 
him  in  this  respect.  She  told  him  that  Cathy  was  not  in  a 
fit  state  to  discuss  anything,  and  that  if  he  was  a  wise  man 
he  would  let  the  Barlow  controversy  drop. 

The  only  time  he  alluded  to  it  Cathy  had  been  up  in  arms, 
and  had  said  that  she  felt  that  she  had  been  very  unfair  to 
George  Barlow  in  the  past,  and  would  hear  no  word  against 
him.  Lorrimer  had  been  foolish  enough  to  touch  upon  the 
question  when  she  was  a  little  better,  and  had  spoken  of  the 
trouble  Barlow  had  caused  in  Kingslade.  That  evening, 
Cathy  had  a  relapse,  so  Monica  said,  and  for  some  days 
Lorrimer  was  forbidden  to  see  his  wife.  Monica  was  as 
firm  as  a  rock,  and  when  Lady  Carstairs  came  to  see  her 
niece,  she  was  given  five  minutes  alone  with  her,  and 
warned  to  be  very  careful  of  what  she  said. 

"Cathy  is  always  excitable,"  Monica  explained,  with  her 
sweet,  rather  wistful  smile ;  "we  know  her,  dear  Lady  Car- 
stairs,  and  I  need  not  tell  you  that,  if  she  is  upset  now, 
even  by  the  smallest  thing,  it  may  be  extremely  dangerous 
for  her." 

"But  surely  the  trouble  is  over,  Monica  ?"  Lady  Carstairs 
said  sorrowfully.  "Poor  Jack,  I  do  feel  for  him.  He  looks 
wretched.  Still,  there  are  many  happy  days  ahead  for  them, 
as  I  told  him.  Florence  Woodstock  began  with  two  mis- 
adventures, and  they  now  have  six  dear  little  boys  and 
girls." 

"I  have  no  fears  for  her  physically,"  Monica  said,  stand- 
ing by  the  window  in  the  library,  looking  out  over  a  bed 
of  purple  crocuses  all  in  gorgeous  blossom. 

"You  mean?"  Lady  Carstairs  looked  at  the  back  of  Dr. 
Henstock's  head. 

150 


CATHY  ROSSITER  151 

"Her  mental  energy  has  always  been  over  active.  It  is 
of  the  greatest  necessity  that  she  should  rest." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Lady  Carstairs  sighed  profoundly.  "I 
can  see  that"  She  blew  her  nose  and  coughed  doubtfully. 
"If  you  felt  that  I  should  excite  her " 

"Not  that,"  Monica  turned  quickly  and  smiled  again; 
"only,  when  you  do  see  her,  will  you  make  it  a  point  to 
agree  with  whatever  she  says?" 

"I  see,  I  see,"  Lady  Carstairs  agreed.  "How  really  provi- 
dential that  you  are  able  to  be  here,  Monica.  It  is  noble 
of  you  to  sacrifice  your  holiday.  Jack  told  me  of  it." 

She  went  up  to  Cathy's  room,  where  the  nurse  was  sitting 
sewing  by  the  wide  windows,  and  Cathy  herself  was  lying 
on  the  sofa  listlessly  looking  out  at  the  sky.  When  she  saw 
her  aunt  she  raised  herself  on  her  arm,  and  greeted  her  with 
almost  passionate  enthusiasm. 

"Nurse,  you  can  go,"  she  said,  looking  over  Lady  Car- 
stairs'  shoulder  at  the  white-capped  woman  in  the  window ; 
and  the  nurse  got  up  and  hesitated. 

"Yes,  you  can  go,"  added  Lady  Carstairs;  "I  shall  not 
stay  long,  and  I  will  call  you  the  moment  I  leave." 

At  that,  the  nurse  withdrew  into  the  bedroom  and  closed 
the  door. 

"Aunt  Amy,  Aunt  Amy,  I'm  not  ill,"  Cathy  said,  holding 
Lady  Carstairs'  hands;  "I  really  am  not.  I'm  sure  that  I 
could  be  down  and  about,  only  for  this  ridiculous  fuss. 
Just  because  I'm  Cathy,  I'm  kept  lying  on  my  back." 

"Patience,  darling,  patience,"  said  Lady  Carstairs.  "Re- 
member how  anxious  poor  dear  Jack  feels.  He  looks 
wretched." 

"Jack?"  Cathy's  tone  was  aggressive;  "I've  tried  to 
make  him  understand,  and  he  simply  won't.  He  says  that 
Muggins  knows  best,  and  he  has  that  jailor  of  a  nurse  sit- 
ting there.  It's  enough  to  drive  me  off  my  head." 

"Lie  back,  dear,"  Lady  Carstairs  said  in  a  voice  of  alarm, 
for  Cathy  had  got  to  her  feet  and  was  walking  about  the 
room.  "If  you  don't,  I  really  must  call  the  nurse.  I  am 
only  here  because  I  promised  you  would  be  good." 

"I'll  be  good."     Cathy  came  back  to  her  and  lay  down 


152  CATHY  ROSSITER 

again.  "Tell  me  about  everyone.  How  is  Robert?  Have 
you  seen  Twyford?" 

"Robert  is  very  faithful,"  Lady  Carstairs  said  kindly; 
"he  came  yesterday  and  sent  you  his  love.  I  think  he  has 
improved,  and  Twyford — well,  he  is  the  same  as  ever." 

"Did  he  ask  for  me?  I'm  not  allowed  to  read  even 
letters." 

"I'm  sure  whatever  Monica  says  is  best" ;  Lady  Carstairs 
patted  Cathy's  hand.  "You  look  wonderfully  well,  dearest." 

"I  am  well,"  Cathy  broke  out  again;  "that  is  the  ridicu- 
lous part  of  it.  Why  won't  they  let  me  come  down  or  see 
people  ?" 

"Twyford  is  thinking  of  selling  the  London  property," 
Aunt  Amy  said,  seeking  to  turn  the  conversation  to  safer 
channels.  "He  has  some  idea  of  starting  a  School  of 
Forestry  for  poor  young  men." 

"My  idea,"  Cathy  clapped  her  hands  delightedly.  "But 
to  think  that  at  last  Twyford  is  really  going  to  do  it."  Her 
eyes  were  bright  and  she  looked  wonderfully  vivid  and  beau- 
tiful, her  hair  in  disorder  and  her  embroidered  dressing- 
gown  pulled  round  her.  "I'll  write  to  Robert  to-day.  When 
Mug  comes  up  to  lecture  me,  I'll  make  her  give  me  pens  and 
paper,  and  I'll  write  to  Twyford  also." 

"If  Monica  consents,"  added  Lady  Carstairs  guardedly. 
"I  am  sure  she  will,  only  you  must  not  excite  yourself." 

Cathy  laughed.  "Excite  myself?  Darling,  if  you  only 
knew  what  my  days  are  like  you  wouldn't  accuse  me  of 
that.  I  mayn't  read  or  write,  I  mayn't  see  people,  I  am  fed 
on  all  the  things  I  like  least.  What  else  has  been  happening 
in  the  world  ?  Of  course,  a  daily  paper  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion." 

Lady  Carstairs  reflected. 

"There  have  been  one  or  two  very  unpleasant  murders," 
she  said,  and  then  she  felt  as  though  that  was  not  alto- 
gether a  suitable  subject. 

"Oh,  tell  me  about  them,"  Cathy  said;  "why  did  they 
do  it?" 

"And  strikes,"  Lady  Carstairs  held  up  her  hands ;  "strikes 
everywhere,  Cathy.  Thank  goodness  the  authorities  have 


CATHY  ROSSITER  153 

at  last  imprisoned  Danielli,  but  Barlow  is  still  at  large.  I 
would  not  speak  of  this,  only  that  I  know  that  you  changed 
your  mind  about  these  people.  Jack  converted  you." 

Cathy  fiddled  with  a  gold  tassel  on  one  of  her  cushions. 
"I  think  I  misjudged  Major  Barlow,"  she  said.  "He  isn't 
nearly  as  bad  as  people  say.  .  .  ." 

The  door  of  the  bedroom  opened  imperceptibly,  and  the 
nurse  stood  with  a  watch  in  her  hand. 

"It  is  time  for  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  tonic,  my  lady,"  she  said, 
in  a  dry,  expressionless  voice ;  "if  you  will  excuse  me." 

Lady  Carstairs  got  up  at  once,  and  kissed  her  niece. 

"Patience,  Cathy,"  she  said  again.  "You  are  looking  far 
better  than  I  expected." 

"Oh,  must  you  go?"  Cathy  implored,  but  she  implored 
in  vain,  for  Lady  Carstairs  caught  a  silent  signal  from  the 
nurse,  and  made  her  way  quietly  from  the  room. 

"I  think  Cathy  looks  very  well,"  she  said  to  Monica,  who 
met  her  in  the  hall. 

"Will  you  come  into  the  library  for  a  second?"  Monica 
suggested,  and  Lady  Carstairs  went  in,  feeling  strangely 
disturbed  in  mind. 

"Did  she  speak  of  George  Barlow?"  Monica  asked,  and 
she  put  the  question  keenly,  holding  Lady  Carstairs'  eyes. 

"She  did  mention  him,"  Lady  Carstairs  replied,  "but  only 
just  as  I  was  leaving.  Ought  I  to  have  avoided  the  sub- 
ject?" 

Monica  looked  at  her  strong,  well-shaped  hands. 

"We  heard  the  story  from  outside  sources,"  she  said 
slowly,  "and  I  have  asked  Jack  not  to  question  Cathy,  nor 
have  I  questioned  her  myself  in  the  matter.  All  we  know 
is  that  she  met  Barlow  in  the  shrubbery,"  she  glanced  up 
and  smiled,  "so  like  Cathy,  isn't  it?  And  then  she  must 
have  sprained  her  ankle  and  had  a  fall.  The  fall  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  trouble,  and  you  know  that  there  is  a  very 
close  connection  between  mental  and  physical  conditions. 
While  Cathy  was  delirious,  she  constantly  called  to  George 
Barlow  and  asked  him  not  to  leave  her.  It  was  the  first 
we  knew  of  any  fresh  communications  between  her  and 
Jane  Greenaway's  friends." 


i54  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Lady  Carstairs  was  profoundly  shocked. 

"Oh  dear,"  she  said;  "how  unfortunate." 

"I  have  avoided  the  subject,"  Monica  went  on  firmlyr 
"and,  as  I  said,  I  have  advised  Jack  to  avoid  it.  Cathy  is 
excitable,  and  she  needs  quiet.  The  difficulty  of  keeping 
her  quiet  is  simply  absurd;  you  can't  dream,  dear  Lady  Car- 
stairs,  how  she  has  to  be  watched." 

"But  a  few  books  or  a  letter  now  and  then,"  Lady  Car- 
stairs  put  in  her  plea  in  a  hesitating  voice.  "Would  it  not 
be  well  to  allow  her  some  outlet  for  all  her  energy  ?  I  know 
that  when  I  had  a  rest  cure,  I  felt  wretchedly  ill  after  it ; 
and  for  Cathy  it  is  torture.  Monica,  are  you  sure  that  it  is 
wise  ?" 

Doctor  Henstock  regarded  Lady  Carstairs  with  a  steady, 
frigid  look. 

"You  must  allow  me  to  know  what  is  best  for  any  of  my 
patients,"  she  said  formally.  "When  Cathy  is  well  enough 
to  spend  her  mental  energy  again  in  her  usual  lavish  way, 
she  shall  do  so,  but  not  until  then."  She  thought  for  a 
second,  and  went  on  in  a  more  friendly  voice,  "Women  of 
Cathy's  imaginative  temperament  are  subject  to  special 
dangers;  at  present,  I  believe  that  Cathy's  mind  is  now 
turning  towards  the  Danielli  group,  and  they  are  dangerous 
for  her.  She  lives  in  a  world  divided  between  dreams  and 
realities,  and  at  present  the  dream  preponderates." 

"But  you  could  say  that  of  almost  anyone,"  Lady  Car- 
stairs  objected;  "I  don't  quite  see  that  it  applies  to  Cathy 
alone."  She  was  slightly  irritated  by  Monica's  superiority. 
"You  yourself,  dear  Monica,  once  thought  very  differently ; 
when  you  were  fighting  for  the  vote,  you  did  not  regard 
that  as  a  phantasy.  You  even  went  to  prison." 

"I  fought  on  a  clear  issue";  Monica  got  to  her  feet  and 
the  platform  manner  became  immediately  evident.  "Cathy 
is  not  ever  entirely  convinced,  because  people  and  person- 
alities obstruct  her  view.  Jane  Greenaway  and  George  Bar- 
low, most  unfortunately,  also  influence  her;  she  has  no 
special  sense  of  the  value  of  their  work,  or  its  destructive 
force.  For  Jack's  sake,  she  must  wake  from  her  dreams, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  155 

and  to  arrive  at  that  she  needs  quiet — which  I  intend  her 
to  have." 

"It  seems  to  me" — Lady  Carstairs  rose  and  held  out  her 
hand — "that  you  are  trying  to  make  Cathy  into  something 
she  has  never  been.  I  doubt  if  you  will  succeed." 

Monica  saw  Lady  Carstairs  to  the  door,  and  watched  her 
departure  silently,  and,  when  she  had  gone,  she  went  to  look 
for  Lorimer,  who  was  in  the  stables.  He  greeted  her  with 
a  cheery  shout  from  the  darkness  of  a  loose  box,  and, 
joining  him  in  the  gloom,  she  informed  him  of  Lady  Car- 
stairs'  desire  to  interfere. 

"She  positively  tried  to  lay  down  the  law  to  me,"  she 
said,  "but  I  don't  stand  that  sort  of  thing." 

Lorrimer  looked  at  her  admiringly.  There  was  a  great 
deal  in  Monica  for  a  man  to  admire,  and  he  felt  always  that 
he  and  she  were  fundamentally  allied.  All  the  others  had 
known  different  beginnings,  but  he  and  Monica  had  funny 
little  memories  in  common,  memories  which  cropped  up  like 
daisies  in  the  spring  grasses.  For  a  second,  as  she  stood 
close  to  him,  and  he  held  "Rainy  Day"  by  the  head-stall, 
he  was  tremendously  moved  by  an  unexpected  impulse,  and 
her  hand  lay  on  the  grey  neck  of  the  hunter.  Without  paus- 
ing to  consider  what  he  was  doing,  and  only  acting  swiftly, 
as  though  carried  upon  burning  wings  of  fire,  he  put  his 
hand  over  hers,  and  life  tingled  and  beat  through  them  both 
in  the  silence. 

It  was  Monica  who  recovered  the  situation,  and  she  did 
it  very  deftly  indeed.  She  pressed  his  hand  in  friendly 
fashion  and  picked  up  the  dropped  thread  of  her  story. 

"I  found  that  Cathy  had  spoken  of  George  Barlow,  but 
told  her  aunt  very  little,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  a 
little  uneven.  "I  am  sure,  Jack,  that  you  must  not  ask  for 
any  particulars  yet.  Cathy  is  the  soul  of  candour,  really, 
and  she  will  tell  you  herself  later  on." 

"I'm  going  to  motor  over  to  see  Jesson ;  he  is  staying  at 
the  Dacre  Willoughby's,"  Lorrimer  said,  without  making 
any  reference  to  her  allusion  to  Cathy.  "Come  with  me, 
the  air  will  do  you  good.  I've  taken  your  holiday  from 
you,  Monica,  and  you  must  let  me  make  it  up  to  you  a  bit." 


156  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"I  might  spare  the  time.  There's  that  pathological 
treatise,  you  know,"  she  said,  considering ;  "but  it's  a  temp- 
tation. Yes,  Jack,  I  will  come." 

She  did  not  wait,  though  he  wanted  to  detain  her,  and  he 
came  out  into  the  sunny  yard,  with  its  neat  rows  of  white 
doors,  to  watch  her  walk  to  the  house,  and  as  he  watched 
her  his  face  altered  and  he  looked  depressed  and  dissatis- 
fied. Later  on,  he  went  up  to  Cathy's  room,  and  found  her 
lying  on  the  sofa.  She  welcomed  him  gladly,  and  began  at 
once  to  ask  if  he  couldn't  do  anything  with  Monica's  awful 
conscience. 

"She  is  literally  nursing  me  into  morbidity,"  Cathy  said. 
"I  want  to  come  out  and  play.  It's  been  pretty  bad,  Jack, 
the  disappointment  and  all." 

He  thought  of  his  own  disappointment  and  her  disobedi- 
ence, and  said  nothing  for  a  little,  watching  her  changing 
eyes,  and  thinking  that  certainly  he  had  a  very  beautiful 
wife.  Why  was  it  that,  at  times,  her  lack  of  some  of  Mon- 
ica's sterling  qualities  was  so  abominably  difficult  to  en- 
dure ?  Cathy  was  a  child,  Monica  frequently  told  him  that, 
and  Monica  was  a  woman. 

"You  did  what  I  asked  you  not  to  do,  once,"  he  said, 
frowning,  "and  I  needn't  speak  of  that  now,  Cathy.  If 
Monica  feels  it  is  for  your  good  to  rest,  you  can't  be  sur- 
prised that  I  second  her." 

Cathy  said  nothing  more.  She  had  a  box  of  patience 
cards,  which  relaxation  was  permitted  to  her,  and  she  swept 
them  on  to  the  floor. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  he  asked,  and  stooping  to  pick 
up  the  cards. 

"Don't  deprive  me  of  my  one  employment,"  she  said, 
holding  out  her  hands ;  "I  do  it  twenty  times  a  day." 

And  then,  when  he  looked  up  at  her,  he  saw  that  her  clear 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  He  was  repentant  at  once,  and  took 
her  in  his  arms. 

"What  can  I  do?"  he  said.    "What  can  I  do?" 

"Send  away  the  nurse.  I  don't  mind  the  night-nurse  be- 
cause I'm  asleep,  but  the  sight  of  those  cuffs  and  that  cap, 
and  the  stories  of  people's  insides,  which  is  all  I  ever  hear. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  i57 

make  me  frantic.  Let  me  have  Batkins  to  sit  here  instead, 
she  isn't  busy  in  the  afternoons." 

"I'll  ask  Monica,"  he  agreed;  "I'm  sure  she  won't  ob- 
ject." 

Cathy  looked  mutinous.  "Monica,  Monica  the  Almighty," 
she  said,  and  then  she  laughed.  "I  really  feel  as  though 
I  ought  to  be  saying  my  prayers  to  her.  I  do  hope  God  isn't 
like  Monica." 

Lorrimer  looked  at  her  reprovingly,  but  he  renewed  his 
promise  that  Batkins  should  replace  Nurse  Binns  during 
the  afternoons. 

When  Monica  first  began  to  realise  that  Jack  was  the  man 
she  used  to  know  and  love,  and  that  his  old  self  had  not 
really  been  absorbed  in  Lorrimer,  the  M.P.  for  Kingslade, 
and  husband  of  Cathy  Rossiter,  the  revelation  was  tremen- 
dous. She  tried  to  forget  it,  to  put  it  away,  and  to  keep  it 
out  of  sight  when  they  were  together,  but  the  joy  in  her 
heart  could  not  be  disregarded  and  ignored.  She  was  happy, 
and  she  came  to  a  compromise  with  herself,  she  who  de- 
spised compromise.  Cathy  had  fascinated  Lorrimer,  hypno- 
tised him,  and  thrown  her  wonderful  net  of  glamour  over 
his  judgments.  She  had  been  above  him  by  right  of  birth, 
and  he  was  only  on  the  threshold  of  his  own  career.  Cathy 
had  certainly  helped  him,  and  had  brought  him  into  the 
inner  circle  of  things  without  effort.  But  behind  all  that 
there  was  Jack  Lorrimer  as  Monica  had  known  him;  the 
Jack  of  old  days,  who  had  cherished  an  unspoken  love  for 
the  girl  in  the  villa  opposite.  Lad's  love,  of  course,  and  not 
to  be  set  beside  the  mature  love  of  a  man  of  forty :  so  the 
world  judges  these  things.  Now  they  were  together,  Monica 
and  Lorrimer,  and  Cathy  was  in  disgrace.  The  contrast 
between  the  two  women  was  marked  quite  definitely,  and 
Monica  was  closely  and  strongly  in  sympathy  with  all  Lorri- 
mer's  plans  and  schemes.  In  the  evenings,  when  she  and 
Lorrimer  sat  in  the  quiet  of  the  library,  he  felt  her  modera- 
tion to  be  intensely  soothing,  and  he  never  found  himself 
swept  into  heated  argument,  such  as  Cathy  was  inclined  to 
provoke.  Cathy  was  like  the  sea ;  wide,  wonderful  and  full 


i58  CATHY  ROSSITER 

of  life,  and  Monica  was  like  a  river  upon  which  he  drifted, 
borne  where  he  wished  to  go  by  a  steady,  reliable  current 
which  did  not  vary.  They  had  neither  of  them  a  thought  of 
disloyalty  to  Cathy,  but  the  fundamental  attraction  of  like 
to  like  was  stronger  than  they  guessed.  At  what  point  ex- 
actly his  friendship  for  her  began  to  take  on  a  different 
guise,  Lorrimer  did  not  know.  He  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
facing  things,  and  he  certainly  did  not  wish  to  question 
himself  as  to  this.  He  only  knew  that,  as  things  were,  he 
was  unusually  happy,  and  they  both  agreed  that  Cathy 
would  soon  be  better,  but  that,  for  her  own  sake,  she  must 
remain  a  prisoner  for  some  time  longer. 

It  was  Hammersly  who  first  realised  exactly  what  was 
going  on,  and  he  came  to  Kingslade  more  frequently  than 
before.  Monica  appreciated  him,  he  saw  to  that,  and  he 
thought  with  a  smile  of  Cathy's  open  dislike.  Mrs.  Lorrimer 
had  chosen  to  make  him  her  enemy,  and  he  brooded  at  times 
on  the  possibility  of  squaring  their  account. 

"Lorrimer  will  go  far,"  he  remarked  to  Monica  as  she 
gave  him  tea  one  afternoon  when  Jack  was  away  in  London ; 
"at  least,  he  would  if  it  were  not  for  his  wife." 

Hammersly  was  sitting  by  the  window,  looking  extremely 
well  content,  and  bringing  his  usual  effect  of  cleverness  and 
self-satisfaction  into  his  smallest  movement.  "I  know  she 
is  a  friend  of  yours,  Doctor  Henstock,  but,  even  so,  I  will 
be  quite  frank.  She  will  ruin  his  career." 

"I  don't  agree,"  Monica  said  at  once.  "She  is  a  clever 
and  very  charming  woman." 

"Hopelessly  unbalanced,"  he  replied,  stirring  his  tea  re- 
flectively, "and  just  the  type  of  woman  who  can't  be  trusted. 
She  is  hand  in  glove  with  Barlow  and  the  Danielli  crowd, 
and  she  has  influence  enough  over  Lorrimer  to  make  him 
suspect  in  his  own  party.  These  days  everything  is  dug 
up  and  questions  are  asked.  Only  last  week,"  he  smoothed 
his  thick,  dark  hair,  "I  met  Jesson,  quite  by  accident,  at 
the  house  of  a  mutual  friend,  and  he  spoke  to  me  of  Lorri- 
mer. He  then  asked  me,"  Hammersly  grew  emphatic, 
"whether  it  was  true  that  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  in  touch  with 
the  Bolshevik  crowd.  I  said  that  she  was  not — naturally 


CATHY  ROSSITER  159 

it  wasn't  for  me  to  give  the  show  away— and  he  looked  at 
me,  and  remarked  that  he  must  be  sure  of  that." 

"A  great  deal  of  it  is  talk  with  Cathy,"  Monica  said,  after 
a  slight  pause.  "Perhaps  if  she  understood  that  she  might 
damage  Jack's  prospects " 

Hammersly  shook  his  head  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Since  she  has  been  ill,  I  have  got  Lorrimer  to  come  on 
to  two  committees  which  he  wouldn't  have  touched  had  she 
been  there  to  prevent  it.  His  marriage  was  the  mistake  of 
his  life." 

Monica  flushed  suddenly.  She  had  felt  this  very  often 
herself,  and  to  hear  it  said  by  Hammersly  seemed  to 
strengthen  her  belief. 

"Oh,  well,  I  suppose  no  one  can  have  it  every  way,"  Ham- 
mersly remarked  with  a  laugh,  "only  she  won't  make  him 
happy.  Can't  you  give  her  a  hint  to  drop  Barlow,  at  least  ? 
The  whole  county  knows  about  her  having  met  him  in  the 
Park." 

"Not  at  present,"  Monica  compressed  her  lips;  "she  is 
still  very  excitable." 

Hammersly  watched  her  and  placed  his  cup  on  the  tea- 
table. 

"Mental  exuberance,  or  something  worse?"  he  enquired. 

"Only  a  matter  of  time,"  Monica  said  slowly.  "She  will 
soon  be  able  to  come  down  and  be  about  again." 

"And  you  will  hate  me  if  I  say,  'more's  the  pity.' "  He 
got  up  and  prepared  to  go.  "Yet,  if  you  want  to  do  the 
best  thing  you  can  for  Lorrimer,  let  him  have  a  chance  of 
being  himself.  So  long  as  his  wife  is  at  his  elbow,  none 
of  us  know  what  her  influence  may  force  him  into."  He 
laughed.  "Of  all  the  unreasonable  women  I  have  known, 
and  I  have  known  many,  Mrs.  Lorrimer  is  quite  the  wildest. 
Thrones  must  fall  at  her  nod,  and  the  whole  complicated 
system  of  ownership  is  to  be  swept  away.  Ah,  well,  I  sup- 
pose her  fine  eyes  make  up  for  her  lack  of  judgment." 

Monica  thought  for  a  long  time  after  Hammersly  had 
gone,  and  then  she  went  up  to  see  Cathy.  Spring  had  called 
the  daffodils  into  flower,  and  the  garden  below  Cathy's  win- 
dow was  gay  and  bright,  but  Cathy  herself  was  weary  and 


160  CATHY  ROSSITER 

restless.  Her  life  had  always  been  a  life  of  action,  coloured 
by  impulses  which  were  warm  and  rich  and  chivalrous,  and 
she  looked  at  Monica  with  a  sidelong  glance;  she  seemed 
too  weary  to  lift  her  eyelids.  Her  mind  had  been  running 
in  a  close  groove  of  pain,  and  she  fiddled  with  her  patience 
cards.  She  was  evidently  irritable  and  out  of  sorts,  and 
her  voice  was  touched  with  temper. 

"How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long?"  she  asked,  and  yawned. 

"Very  soon  now,  if  you  are  a  good  child."  Monica  gave 
her  an  infinitesimal  kiss  on  the  cheek. 

Cathy  pulled  at  her  Venetian  red  dress,  and  tore  a  bit  of 
the  trimming  with  impatient  fingers.  She  rested,  as  she 
had  been  resting  when  Monica  came  in,  with  her  neck  droop- 
ing, and  her  eyes  cast  down. 

"Prison  is  dull,"  she  said,  laughing  without  mirth,  and 
Monica  began  to  talk  quickly.  She  told  Cathy  all  the  news 
and  was  cheerful  and  common-place,  but  Cathy  did  not  re- 
spond. She  seemed  to  have  given  in  to  circumstances  which 
overpowered  her,  and  only  raised  her  eyebrows,  and  let  the 
talk  drift  by  almost  unnoticed. 

"Can't  Batkins  take  her  turn  as  my  jailor?"  she  said; 
"I  asked  Jack,  but  nothing  has  been  done." 

"Of  course  she  can,"  Monica  agreed  heartily.  "Look 
here,  Cath,  don't  be  so  difficult  about  it.  Soon  you  will  be 
quite  well,  if  you  go  on  as  you  have  been  going.  Only,  if 
you  relapse  into  this  new  phase,  I  can  promise  nothing." 

Cathy  looked  up  steadily  and  watched  Monica. 

"I  am  well,"  she  said,  "only  I'm  tired  of  saying  so.  Only 
don't  trouble  to  stay  up  here,  I'd  rather  be  alone." 

"To-morrow  Batkins  will  come  and  cheer  you  up," 
Monica  said  in  friendly  tones.  "Buck  up,  Cathy.  I  had 
one  case  where  my  patient  was  months  in  her  room  after 
just  the  same  kind  of  indiscretion." 

Cathy  made  no  reply,  and  Monica  went  out  of  the  room. 
She  was  not  expecting  Lorrimer  back  before  dusk,  and  she 
was  thinking  madly  of  him.  At  the  end  of  a  week  Cathy 
must  be  free,  and  her  freedom  would  put  an  end  to  the 
feast  v/hich  she  had  been  enjoying  in  secret.  There  were 
times  when  Monica's  cup  of  joy  was  brimming  over,  but  it 


CATHY  ROSSITER  161 

might  only  be  drunk  of  in  hasty  snatches,  unacknowledged 
even  to  herself.  Now,  it  was  as  though  she  had  set  the 
term  to  her  own  joy,  a  joy  which  would  vanish  as  com- 
pletely as  though  it  had  never  existed  for  her.  It  had  come 
to  her  unsought,  and,  so  far,  not  one  word  or  act  had  passed 
between  her  and  Lorrimer  which  could  be  called  into  ques- 
tion. Her  heart  was  beating  wildly  as  she  descended  the 
stairs,  and  every  human  impulse  she  had  cried  out  in  her 
for  her  right  to  be  loved.  She  had  none  of  the  bewilder-  fc 
ing  romance  of  Cathy;  she  was  clean  cut,  not  illusive,  and 
she  loved  Jack  from  her  heart.  All  that  she  had  lost  came 
upon  her,  and,  going  into  the  library,  she  sat  down  in  his 
chair  and  buried  her  face  in  her  arms. 

She  raised  her  head  suddenly  and  listened,  and  before 
she  could  recover  herself  Lorrimer  came  quickly  into  the 
room.  He  caught  her  abandonment,  her  hopeless  submis- 
sion to  fate  and  the  whole  sense  of  her  distress,  long  before 
she  had  power  to  draw  the  curtain  and  hide  away  from  him, 
and  in  a  moment  she  was  experiencing  the  strong  clasp  of 
his  arms. 

"What  is  wrong,  Monica?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice;  "I 
was  able  to  get  back  sooner  than  I  thought.  Tell  me  what 
is  wrong." 

Some  power  infinitely  stronger  than  anything  that  Monica 
had  known  drew  their  faces  together,  and  their  lips  met. 
It  was  only  for  a  second,  and  Lorrimer  started  away. 

"My  God,"  he  said,  "I  never  meant  you  to  know,"  and 
as  he  said  it,  he  realised  that  he  himself  had  not  known. 
He  had  grown  to  think  of  her  constantly,  to  depend 
upon  her  judgments,  but  he  had  not  dreamed  that  he  would 
let  himself  break  through  like  this,  and  he  was  abashed 
and  ashamed. 

"Let  us  forget  this,"  Monica  said  quickly;  "it  has  not 
really  happened,  Jack.  You  only  wanted  to  be  kind  to  an 
old  friend." 

Yes,  that  was  it.  That  explained  it.  One  could  cover 
it  up  quite  well,  really,  and  he  looked  at  her  again.  It  was 
true  that  he  felt  smitten  by  the  realisation  that,  from  the 
first.  Monica  had  really  been  his  own.  Her  face  was  dead' 


162  CATHY  ROSSITER 

white  and  her  eyes  were  on  fire,  but  she  kept  a  wonderful 
hold  upon  herself.  She  might  have  been  praying  silently, 
and  her  quietude  held  him  up. 

"Cathy  is  better,"  she  said,  rallying  her  forces;  "I  think 
she  will  soon  be  able  to  be  with  you  again." 

Lorrimer  bent  his  head,  accepting  the  fact,  and  Monica 
went  on,  "For  the  little  time  that  is  left  let  us  have  our 
friendship,  Jack.  It  means  so  much." 

It  seemed  possible  to  both  of  them,  and  they  said  no  more 
of  it. 

Cathy  was  not  sleeping  well.  Nurse  Binns  came  to  re- 
port upon  the  fact,  and  said  that  she  needed  a  narcotic.  All 
the  night  before  Mrs.  Lorrimer  had  paced  her  room,  roam- 
ing about  with  flushed  cheeks,  and  obviously  miserable  and 
wretched.  Monica,  who  was  dressing  for  dinner,  was  im- 
mediately ready  for  the  emergency,  and  she  gave  the  nurse 
a  small  tube  of  tabloids  with  short  directions  as  to  how  much 
should  be  used.  Nurse  Binns  stood  by  the  dressing-table, 
formal  and  stiff,  and  remarked  that  her  patient  objected  to 
drugs. 

"I  shall  have  to  give  it  to  her  in  a  cup  of  hot  milk,"  she 
said.  "Do  you  really  think,  Doctor  Henstock,  that  Mrs. 
Lorrimer  is  any  better  ?  I  don't  mean  physically,  of  course, 
but  she  talks  very  wildly.  She  ordered  me  out  of  the  room 
twice,"  went  on  Nurse  Binns  vindictively;  "I  do  my  best 
to  interest  her,  and  it's  a  thankless  task;  I  hear  that  I  am 
to  be  relieved  in  the  afternoons  by  Miss  Batten?" 

"Yes,"  Monica  said  absently.  "In  any  case,  Mrs.  Lorri- 
mer will  be  allowed  out  of  her  room  next  week." 

Nurse  Binns  looked  gloomy,  and  made  no  reply,  but,  as 
she  went  to  the  door,  she  spoke  again. 

"Miss  Batten  can  control  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  I  suppose  ?  She 
is  very  self-willed." 

"She  will  be  all  right,"  Monica  replied  in  the  same  me- 
chanical voice,  and  she  seemed  not  to  take  any  special  notice 
of  what  Nurse  Binns  had  said. 

At  dinner,  she  spoke  again  of  Cathy,  and  she  told  Lorri- 
mer that  she  was  not  entirely  happy  about  her.  They  were 


CATHY  ROSSITER  163 

sitting  over  dessert,  and  there  was  a  strange,  new  feeling 
between  them  which  they  both  tried  to  forget. 

"Nurse  Binns  has  attended  a  number  of  mental  cases," 
she  said,  "and  she  feels  that  Cathy  is  unbalanced.  She 
seems  to  regard  her  condition  as  slightly  anxious " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Lorrimer  spoke  like  a  man  who 
waked  suddenly  from  sleep.  "I  don't  understand." 

"Nothing,"  Monica  said  quickly.  "It  is  only  that  Cathy 
talks  so  wildly  at  times." 

"She  always  says  whatever  she  thinks,"  he  replied. 

He  seemed  driven  and  unhappy,  and  the  conversation  fell 
again  into  a  throbbing  abyss  of  silence. 

"If  Cathy  is  still  over-excitable  at  the  end  of  a  week,  I 
think  a  change  will  be  the  best  thing  for  her,"  Monica  talked 
again  suddenly.  "A  rest  cure  is  excellent,  and  might  do 
just  what  we  want." 

Lorrimer  rose  from  the  table  and  opened  one  of  the  long 
windows.  The  night  was  a  soft  spring  night,  full  of  scent 
and  beauty,  and  a  low  moon  spread  dark  shadows  across 
the  lawn  beyond  the  windows. 

"Shall  we  go  out?"  he  asked.  "We  could  sit  in  the  big 
conservatory  and  have  coffee  there.  I  have  to  go  and  dic- 
tate some  letters  to  Miss  Batten  presently,  but  not  yet." 

They  crossed  the  grass,  the  house  standing  in  its  dignity 
and  pride  behind  them,  and  went  along  a  wide,  paved  ter- 
race towards  the  large  conservatory,  where  the  perfume  of 
flowers  was  rich  and  sweet.  In  a  well-like  space  in  the 
centre  of  the  winter  garden  there  were  a  few  low  chairs  and 
a  table,  and  an  electric  lamp  with  a  gorgeous  crimson  and 
black  shade  threw  a  very  faint  radiance  around  them. 
Monica  sat  in  the  temperate  warmth  of  the  soft  atmosphere 
and  breathed  the  summer  scented  air  of  the  lofty  conserva- 
tory with  a  sense  of  ecstasy.  They  might  have  shared  all 
the  joy  of  pleasures  and  palaces,  if  it  were  not  for  Cathy ; 
Cathy  who  professed  to  scorn  the  soft  things  of  life. 

Lorrimer  forgot  about  Miss  Batten,  and  the  letters  re- 
mained unanswered  that  night ;  but  she  heard  him  come  in 
with  Monica  long  after  she  herself  had  gone  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  idea  of  being  cheered  and  even  excited  by  the  prospect 
of  having  Batkins  to  eit  in  the  room  with  her,  was  so  real 
and  at  the  same  time  so  ridiculous  to  Cathy  that  she  laughed 
at  herself.  She  had  slept  quite  well,  and  when  Lorrimer 
came  to  see  her  in  the  morning,  she  made  fun  of  him,  and 
began  to  tease  him  about  Muggins. 

"I  believe  you  keep  me  here  so  as  to  have  a  clear  way 
•with  Mug,"  she  said.  "What  in  the  world  do  you  talk 
about?" 

"Monica  gave  up  her  holiday  to  take  care  of  you,"  he 
replied  a  little  frostily;  "I  must  make  it  up  to  her,  Cathy. 
I'm  taking  her  up  with  me  to-day  for  the  debate.  We  may 
be  late  back." 

"I'm  so  bored,"  Cathy  went  on;  "I  want  someone  to 
amuse  me.-  I'd  love  to  see  Robert  again.  Can't  he  come 
and  sit  on  a  footstool  and  kiss  my  feet,  or  something  harm- 
less like  that,  if  he  promised  not  to  speak?" 

"Amyas?"  Lorrimer's  voice  was  unmistakably  disapprov- 
ing, but  he  checked  himself  directly  and  spoke  pleasantly. 
"Later  on,  Cathy,  later  on.  You  really  do  feel  better?" 

"Better?  I  loathe  the  word,  I'm  well,  Jack."  She  began 
to  talk  quickly.  "Why  shouldn't  I  be  allowed  to  sit  in  the 
garden?  I  walk  about  my  room " 

"You  ought  not  to,"  he  said,  "and  if  you  do,  you  are 
only  taking  chances  which  you  have  no  right  to  take.  If  you 
do  this  again,  what  am  I  to  think?" 

Cathy  shook  her  head.  "Don't  scold,"  she  said,  turning 
away  from  him.  "I  have  enough  to  bear  without  that." 

"And  I?"  He  tried  to  curb  his  temper,  but  it  seemed 
that  the  effort  went  beyond  him.  "Have  I  nothing  to  bear 
and  to  forgive?  You  forget  things  quickly." 

He  waited  for  her  to  answer,  but  she  made  no  reply,  and 

164 


CATHY  ROSSITER  165 

at  last  he  went  away.  What  was  the  use  of  these  inter- 
views? They  only  made  for  growing  strife. 

Batkins,  in  a  serge  coat  and  skirt  and  a  neat  tie,  came  to 
relieve  Nurse  Binns  at  three  o'clock,  and  she  found  Cathy 
at  the  window.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  wearing  a  thin  silk 
gown  of  peacock  blue,  with  green  and  gold  embroidery  over 
the  arms  and  along  the  hem.  Her  joy  at  seeing  Batkins  was 
unbounded,  and  Cathy  told  her  that  she  felt  as  though  life 
had  become  real  again. 

"I've  often  wondered  if  the  Cathy  they  keep  here  under 
lock  and  key  is  really  Cathy  Rossiter,"  she  said.  "Such  a 
queer,  cross  Cathy,  Batkins.  I  tried  to  fight  with  Jack  to- 
day, and  when  I  saw  him  going  away  with  old  Muggins  I 
very  nearly  cried.  Muggins  has  been  a  saint,  and  Jack  an 
angel,  and  I  get  absolutely  rabid  with  them  both.  As  for 
Binns — I  think  Binns  is  the  devil.  She  says  things  that  she 
knows  will  rise  me,  and  I  rise  like  a  trout  to  a  may-fly." 

It  was  delightful  in  Cathy's  room,  and  she  and  Miss 
Batten  drank  tea  together  at  four  o'clock,  and  chatted  and 
gossiped  in  the  stream  of  yellow  sunlight  which  flooded  in 
through  the  open  window. 

"Life  is  so  queer,"  Cathy  said,  her  eyes  growing  dreamy. 
"Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  one  lives  in  the  past,  and 
that  the  roses  and  summer  days  of  three  years  back  are  far 
more  real  than  the  living  things  one  looks  at  now.  Am  I 
my  real  self,  Batkins  ?  Just  the  me  you  used  to  know  ?" 

"Of  course  you  are,"  Miss  Batten  assured  her,  "only  that 
you  grow  more  lovely,"  she  added  shyly. 

She  looked  down  and  flushed  slightly,  because  Batkins 
had  a  sensitive  conscience,  for  she  no  longer  wondered 
whether  it  was  her  fancy,  or  whether  she  had  really  sur- 
prised a  look  in  Lorrimer's  eyes  when  he  spoke  to  Monica 
which  alarmed  her  profoundly. 

"I  think,"  she  went  on  cautiously,  "that  it  will  be  a  very 
good  thing  when  you  come  down  again." 

Cathy  looked  at  her  and  her  eyes  were  a  little  puzzled. 

"He  isn't  lonely,"  she  said,  half  questioning  Miss  Batten. 
"Muggins  keeps  Jack  from  being  dull,  and  Major  Ham- 
mersly.  I  do  dislike  that  man,  Batkins ;  Beelzebub  Junior.'* 


166  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Doctor  Henstock  will  have  to  leave  here  soon,"  Miss 
Batten  remarked,  and  again  she  became  self-conscious. 

"What  are  you  driving  at,  Bat?"  Cathy  laughed  and 
held  up  a  finger  at  her.  "Do  you  suspect  Mug  of  the  notion 
of  cutting  me  out  ?  Let  her  try." 

"I  owe  a  great  deal  to  Doctor  Henstock,"  Miss  Batten 
said  painfully,  "but  I  have  never  cared  for  her.  When  I 
was  acting  as  her  secretary,"  she  spoke  primly,  "1  felt 

that "  she  stopped  abruptly.  "I  was  not  at  home  there, 

and  perhaps  I  am  a  little  prejudiced." 

Cathy's  attention  wandered.  She  was  pleased  to  hear 
Batkins  straying  on  from  one  subject  to  another,  but  her 
interest  lessened.  Perhaps  Mug  was  really  in  love  with 
Jack.  There  had  been  the  day  when  she  first  met  him ;  the 
cake  and  the  box  of  cigarettes.  There  had  been  many  other 
days  when  Lorrimer  had  been  there,  and  Mug  had  no  one 
else  to  go  and  see  her.  How  stupid  she  had  been  not  to 
realise  that  she  had  taken  away  Mug's  one  great  friend. 
Well,  if  it  were  so,  Muggins  had  behaved  wonderfully,  but 
the  subject  needed  thinking  over.  Anyhow,  at  present  she 
must  be  happy,  for  Jack  seemed  to  be  doing  all  he  could  to 
make  up  to  her  for  the  loss  of  her  holiday. 

The  grounds  looked  very  inviting  in  the  soft  sunlight,  and 
the  early  spring  flowers  played  in  the  light  wind.  A  dis- 
tant row  of  firs  showed  a  soft,  fluffy  green  against  the  sky, 
it  was  not  a  time  to  think  of  the  crowds  who  eat  their 
bread  with  tears,  it  was  a  day  in  which  to  believe  in  angels. 
From  where  she  sat  she  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  broad, 
red  avenue,  leading  on  to  the  gates  a  long  way  out  of  sight ; 
the  fine,  imposing  gates  of  Kingslade  Park,  where  heraldic 
beasts  pranced  and  upheld  emblazoned  shields.  Cathy's 
attention  wandered  again,  and  she  longed  to  go  out  under 
the  sky;  she  wanted  to  sail  before  the  wind  on  a  blue  sea, 
to  run  until  she  was  tired,  in  a  hidden  valley,  warm  and 
sweet,  she  wanted  to  throw  herself  on  the  grass  and  smell 
the  violets,  and  she,  a  real  woman,  who  had  come  out  of 
eternity,  sat,  like  an  old  lady,  at  a  window  and  did  nothing. 

Miss  Batten  talked  on ;  and  Cathy  began  to  feel  as  though 
she  were  waiting  for  something  to  happen.  What  was  it? 


CATHY  ROSSITER  167 

Some  snatch  of  joy,  like  the  forgotten  refrain  of  a  song, 
coming  to  her  out  of  space?  She  leaned  on  the  window 
ledge  and  looked  down  at  the  path  below,  and  as  she  did 
so  she  felt  a  thrill  of  mischievous  pleasure.  It  was  true  of 
Cathy  that  she  always  liked  all  men,  with  a  very  few  excep- 
tions, and  when  she  saw  George  Barlow  standing  staring 
up  at  the  house,  she  forgot  that  she  had  ever  actively  dis- 
liked him.  He  caught  sight  of  her  at  once  and  waved  his 
hand. 

"Come  down,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

It  was  highly  characteristic  of  Barlow  to  demand  the 
impossible  with  complete  nonchalance.  Cathy  shook  her 
head,  and  said,  "No." 

"Only  a  minute,"  he  said  again.    "Don't  be  cowardly." 

Cathy  reflected,  and  she  felt  Batkins  tug  at  her  gown  like 
a  faithful  terrier. 

"It  is  someone  I  know,"  she  turned  and  spoke  to  Miss 
Batten,  and  saw  her  scared  face  of  alarm. 

After  all,  she  was  a  free  woman,  and  if  she  chose  to  go 
downstairs  no  one  could  prevent  it.  Moreover,  if  she  really 
asserted  herself,  she  might  convince  Muggins  that  restraint 
is  not  the  best  cure  for  some  natures.  The  whole  affarr 
presented  itself  to  her  in  the  guise  of  an  adventure,  and  she 
became  intrigued  by  the  mere  fascination  of  so  glorious  a 
break  in  the  endless  monotony  of  her  days.  Cathy  did  not 
know  anything  of  what  popular  report  had  said  as  to  her 
former  meeting  with  Barlow,  and  both  Jack  and  Monica  had 
been  intensely  guarded  on  the  subject  when  she  had  tried 
to  speak  of  it  to  either  of  them.  Monica  was  off  in  London, 
Binns  wouldn't  know,  and  Batkins  could  be  trusted.  Cer- 
tainly, Cathy  had  every  intention  of  going. 

"Don't  make  any  fuss,  Batkins,"  she  said.  "I  won't  be 
gone  two  seconds." 

Miss  Batten  threw  herself  between  Cathy  and  the  door. 
"You  must  not  go,"  she  implored ;  "I  am  here  to  take  care 
of  you,  and  I  will  take  care  of  you.  Colonel  Lorrimer 
trusted  me."  She  was  trembling,  but  she  stood  her  ground. 
"It  is  not  fair,  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  relapsed  to  the  old  name 
in  her  confusion. 


1 68  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"I'll  tell  them  it  was  my  fault.  If  I  am  miles  better  to- 
morrow, as  I  shall  be,  and  after  Muggins  has  admitted  that 
I  am,  I  shall  tell  her,  and  you  can't  be  blamed.  Here,  Bat- 
kins,  let  me  out."  Cathy  was  alive  with  excitement,  and 
she  caught  Miss  Batten  by  the  wrists.  "Now,  Batkins, 
now,"  she  said,  pulling  her  from  the  door,  "I  won't  be  five 
minutes.  I  shall  slip  down  the  back  staircase,  and  there  is 
no  one  about,  and  when  I  come  back  I'll  apologise." 

Miss  Batten  was  small  and  fragile,  and  there  was  no 
strength  in  her  tiny  wrists,  and  Cathy  hardly  knew  how 
strong  she  was.  The  whole  adventure  became  worth  a 
struggle.  It  hardly  took  more  than  a  second  for  her  to 
open  the  door  of  her  room  and  go  down  the  staircase,  though 
the  stairs  were  more  difficult  than  she  had  imagined  they 
would  be,  and  as  she  went  out  into  the  garden  she  saw  Bar- 
low still  waiting  there. 

"I've  come  here  partly  as  a  protest,"  Cathy  said,  laugh- 
ing, "partly  because  the  sunshine  got  into  my  head,  and 
mostly  because  I  have  gradually  come  to  a  point  where  I 
was  bound  to  flare  up  into  revolution." 

"Then  you  choose  a  very  suitable  person  to  meet,"  Bar- 
low said,  with  his  chuckling  laugh.  "Are  you  really  con- 
tent with  Lorrimer's  bread  and  milk  diet?  Aren't  you  a  bit 
bored?  You  know  that  he  is  going  against  Disestablish- 
ment of  the  Church  and  the  Majority  Report  of  the  Di- 
vorce Commission?  Oh,  he  hasn't  told  you  that?  They 
are  only  very  minor  questions,  but  I  fancied  they  stood  for 
Lorrimer's  bravest  piece  of  daring." 

They  had  walked  along  the  gravel  path,  and  stood  by  a 
bed  of  irises  in  full  blossom. 

Cathy  stared  at  Barlow.  "I  don't  understand,"  she  said. 
"Jack  wanted  equal  laws  for  men  and  women,  and  he  felt 
that  there  was  no  special  justification  for  one  Church  to  be 
paramount.  You  are  really  telling  me  the  truth?" 

"Certainly."  Barlow  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  took  out 
a  paper,  in  which  two  paragraphs  were  marked  in  blue 
pencil;  "you  can  read  it  for  yourself.  I  came  here,"  he 
added,  when  she  handed  him  back  the  paper  silently,  "to 
,find  out  whether  you  still  took  any  interest  in  Janey's  work 


CATHY  ROSSITER  169 

and  ours,  and  because  Jakes,  your  husband's  chauffeur,  told 
me  you  were  nothing  better  than  a  prisoner  in  the  house." 

"Jakes  shouldn't  have  said  anything  of  the  kind,"  Cathy 
spoke  quickly,  "I  am  being  taken  too  much  care  of,  that  is 
all." 

She  seemed  to  feel  suddenly  as  though  she  had  no  real 
right  to  be  out  there  in  the  gay,  wind-swept  garden.  She 
looked  uneasily  at  Barlow  and  glanced  towards  the  house  ; 
the  window  of  the  room  belonging  to  Nurse  Binns  was  open, 
and  Nurse  Binns  herself  was  standing  there  watching  them. 
In  spite  of  herself,  Cathy  felt  her  spirit  quail,  and  she 
turned  to  Barlow. 

"I've  been  caught  red-handed,"  she  said,  "and  I  feel  as 
if  I  was  ten  years  old,  when  I  was  at  the  mercy  of  Signor- 
ina's  temper.  I'm  going  back." 

"No,  you're  not,"  he  objected.  "I  have  a  great  deal  more 
to  tell  you  yet,  and  where  is  your  independence  of  spirit?" 

"You  haven't  been  shut  up  for  two  months,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  have,"  he  retorted.  "I  did  three  months  once,  and 
at  another  time  I  had  a  six  months'  Government  rest  cure, 
with  hard  labour." 

He  had  suffered  for  his  convictions,  you  could  not  ever 
escape  from  that,  but  Nurse  Binns  was  watching  her,  her 
eyes  like  gimlets  boring  holes  in  Cathy's  armour  of  courage. 

"Give  Janey  my  love,"  she  said,  "and  tell  her  that  I  am 
not  a  renegade.  With  regard  to  what  you  have  said  about 
Jack,  I  simply  can't  understand  it." 

She  began  to  retrace  her  steps,  Barlow  walking  close  to 
her,  and  holding  her  to  support  her  slightly,  for  she  was 
obviously  tired  with  the  unusual  excitement. 

"I  think  I  can  explain  it,"  he  said.  "The  Progressive 
Party,"  he  gave  a  snort  of  contemptuous  laughter,  "are 
simply  a  pack  of  Tories  on  the  make.  They  have  been 
bought,  Mrs.  Lorrimer.  If  they  vote  alongside  of  the 
Government  they  swamp  us.  Lorrimer  is  likely  to  be  angled 
for,  but  before  he  is  worth  the  bait  he  has  to  prove  his 
conversion." 

"Jack  couldn't  do  a  thing  like  that,"  Cathy  said  hotly; 


1 70  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"it  is  a  mistake,  I  know  it  is."  She  held  out  her  hand  and 
Barlow  took  it  in  both  of  his. 

"I  haven't  upset  you?"  he  asked  anxiously,  "I  do  hope 
I  haven't.  You're  looking  much  stronger." 

Nurse  Binns  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  hard  of  eye 
and  impenetrable  of  demeanour. 

"I  had  no  orders  from  Doctor  Henstock  saying  that  you 
were  to  go  out,  Mrs.  Lorrimer,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which 
sounded  as  harsh  and  hard  as  her  starched  cuffs.  "I  sup- 
pose that  Miss  Batten  was  told  that  you  might  walk?" 

"Good-bye,  Major  Barlow."  Cathy  turned  from  him  and 
faced  Nurse  Binns.  "I  came  out  entirely  on  my  own  re- 
sponsibility, and  I  do  not  require  you.  Miss  Batten  is  in 
my  room." 

She  passed  her  without  glancing  back,  and  went  up  the 
staircase.  Her  interview  with  Barlow  had  made  her  forget 
the  joke  of  it  all,  and  she  looked  serious  enough  when  she 
re-entered  her  room.  Batkins  was  sitting  by  the  window, 
her  eyes  red  and  her  mouth  quivering;  she  had  evidently 
been  sobbing  quietly,  in  her  usual  submissive  way,  putting 
up  no  fight  at  all.  Cathy  heard  the  footsteps  of  Nurse  Binns 
in  the  corridor,  and  she  shut  the  door  at  once,  locking  it  in 
her  face. 

"I  don't  require  you,"  she  replied  to  the  repeated  knock- 
ing on  the  further  side. 

"Oh,  Batkins,  I  am  a  ruthless  wretch,"  she  said,  putting 
her  arms  around  the  little  governess.  "But  I  am  glad  I 
went  out,  because  I  find  that  there  are  all  sorts  of  lies  being 
circulated  about  Jack.  There!"  She  held  Miss  Batten  at 
arm's  length.  "There  is  nothing  to  cry  about.  It's  done 
me  all  the  good  in  the  world." 

"Doctor  Henstock  will  be  furious,"  Miss  Batten  said 
plaintively,  "and  that  terrible  Nurse  Binns.  Did  you  hear 
how  she  shook  the  door  handle?  It  makes  me  so  fright- 
ened." 

"They  won't  eat  us,"  Cathy  said  easily.  "I'm  not  a  child. 
I  shall  have  Binns  sent  away,  she  is  positively  impertinent. 
Courage,  Batkins — did  I  hurt  your  wrists  ?  I  believe  I  did !" 

"That  is  nothing,"  Miss  Batten  pulled  down  her  sleeves, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  171 

"only  when   Doctor  Henstock  comes.  .  .  .  I'm  afraid  of 
her." 

"I'll  tackle  them  all,"  Cathy  laughed.  "Leave  them  to 
me." 

It  was  very  late  when  Lorrimer  and  Monica  came  back; 
they  had  dined  at  the  House,  and  Jack  had  made  one  of  his 
short,  hesitating  speeches,  which  even  Monica  could  hardly 
regard  as  oratory.  During  the  drive  down  Jack  had  held 
Monica's  hands  in  his,  and  he  had  kissed  her  passionately. 
They  had  not  got  beyond  the  discovery  of  one  another,  and 
the  future  was  hardly  real  to  them  in  the  urgency  of  the 
living  present.  If  Lorrimer  had  been  forced  to  say  what 
he  thought,  he  would  have  admitted  that  he  had  not  really 
thought  yet.  Nothing  would  come  of  it,  in  the  sense  of  a 
break  with  Cathy,  no  one  would  ever  know ;  he  and  Monica 
would  remain  friends  outwardly,  even  if  they  were  lovers 
behind  the  screen  of  friendship.  Not  for  worlds,  and  not 
for  any  passionate  desire,  would  he  wreck  his  own  life  with 
its  prospects,  and  he  would  not  harm  Monica.  Vaguely  out- 
lined, this  was  the  summing  up  of  his  feelings.  Many  public 
men  had  found  themselves  in  the  same  difficult  position,  and 
appearances  had  been  preserved  inviolate.  Even  with  the 
happiness  it  brought,  he  was  conscious  of  distress  and  anger 
against  himself.  Still,  how  could  it  be  helped  ? 

They  were  met  in  the  hall  by  Nurse  Binns,  and  the  fact 
of  her  being  there  at  so  late  an  hour  was  disturbing.  She 
looked  at  Monica,  and  asked  if  she  might  speak  to  her  at 
once.  Something  had  happened,  she  said,  which  needed 
immediate  attention,  and  when  Lorrimer  asked  her  if  she 
could  speak  openly  if  he  was  also  present,  she  agreed  with 
a  sour  smile. 

"Certainly,  Colonel  Lorrimer,"  she  said,  and  they  went 
together  into  the  dining-room,  where  the  table  was  laid  and 
a  late  supper  prepared. 

Nurse  Binns  stood,  and  Monica  sat ;  Lorrimer  took  up  his 
place  by  the  mantelpiece,  over  which  a  portrait  of  Cathy 
hung,  smiling  and  full  of  her  wayward  charm. 

Nurse  Binns  spoke  in  hard,  direct  tones,  and  informed 


1 72  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Doctor  Henstock  that,  during  the  time  when  Miss  Batten 
had  taken  charge  of  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  a  very  unpleasant  in- 
cident had  occurred.  Miss  Batten  would  tell  Nurse  Binns 
nothing  whatever;  but,  either  with  or  without  her  consent, 
Mrs.  Lorrimer  had  left  her  room  and  gone  into  the  garden. 

Monica  flushed  and  frowned;  she  was  accustomed  to 
obedience  from  her  patients,  and  she  was  angry  with  Cathy. 

"She  will  certainly  have  a  relapse,"  she  remarked,  and 
told  Nurse  Binns  to  continue  her  report. 

Clearing  her  throat  sharply,  Nurse  Binns  went  on  with 
her  story.  She  had  seen  from  her  window  the  figure  of  a 
stranger  in  the  garden;  a  man  who  walked  rapidly,  and 
then  stood  under  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  window  and  appeared  to 
be  speaking  to  her.  A  little  later,  Mrs.  Lorrimer  came  into 
the  garden.  Her  hair  had  tumbled  down,  and  she  looked 
wild  and  excited.  For  some  time  she  walked  about  arm-in- 
arm with  the  strange  man,  who  gave  her  a  paper  or  a  book, 
and,  at  last,  Nurse  Binns  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  came 
down  the  staircase  to  call  Mrs.  Lorrimer  back  to  a  sense 
of  duty. 

"That  is  to  say,  if  it  was  possible,"  she  added  bitterly. 

"Either,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  "I  must  ask  to  be  re- 
leased from  my  duty  here,  or  I  must  have  proper  control. 
I  am  fully  convinced  that,  without  supervision,  Mrs.  Lorri- 
mer will  become  a  danger  to  herself." 

Monica  looked  at  Nurse  Binns  and  then  at  Lorrimer, 
whose  face  was  set  and  angry.  He  had  felt  considerably 
ashamed  of  himself  when  he  thought  of  Cathy,  and  Cathy's 
trust  in  him,  and  it  re-established  himself  in  his  own  esteem 
to  believe  that  Cathy  had  deliberately  deceived  him.  He 
had  a  right  to  be  an  angry  man  rather  than  a  penitent,  and 
he  made  an  exclamation  of  disgust  as  he  turned  away,  look- 
ing into  the  fireless  grate.  Somewhere  in  his  heart  a  red 
anger  towards  her  and  Barlow  began  to  smoulder,  and  yet 
he  could  not  discuss  that  with  Nurse  Binns  in  the  room. 

Directly  his  back  was  turned  Cathy  had  begun  again,  and 
it  looked  as  though  she  had  arranged  the  meeting  with  Bar- 
low to  coincide  with  the  afternoon  when  Miss  Batten  was  in 
charge  of  her.  Miss  Batten's  lack  of  loyalty  hit  him  like  a 


CATHY  ROSSITER  173 

blow,  and  he  felt  that  there,  at  least,  he  could  assert  his 
power.  The  poor,  weak  creature  was  very  much  at  his 
mercy,  and  she  should  be  made  to  pay.  Monica  was  talking 
to  Nurse  Binns  in  steady,  measured  tones,  asking  questions 
and  forcing  Nurse  Binns  to  admissions  which,  it  appeared, 
she  had  not  made  before. 

Nurse  Binns  stuck  to  her  guns  and  became  more  definite. 
Lorrimer  heard  her  say  that  she  regarded  Cathy  as  a  mental 
case,  and  that  the  truth  of  her  convictions  would  certainly 
be  justified  if  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  given  any  liberty. 

"She  should,  in  my  opinion,  be  under  temporary  re- 
straint," she  said ;  "she  is  capable  of  violent  action.  I  have 
no  authority,  and  I  can't  be  held  responsible." 

At  last  she  left  the  room,  and  they  were  alone.  Lorrimer 
turned  and  flickered  his  eyelids,  looking  sideways  at  Monica. 
He  was  distressed  and  agitated,  and  the  confidence  with 
which  Nurse  Binns  had  asserted  her  belief  that  Cathy  was 
out  of  her  reason  was  both  hideous  and  alarming  to  him. 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?"  he  asked,  as  he  sat  down. 

"I  hardly  like  to  say,"  Monica's  face  was  pale  and  she 
looked  strangely  at  Lorrimer.  "How  can  I  say  it,  Jack? 
In  the  case  of  mental  disorder  it  is  so  difficult  for  a  doctor 
to  be  sure  of  anything,  and  we  are  used  to  Cathy's  ways." 

"That  nurse  suggested  that  she  is  mad,"  he  said  bluntly. 
"Can  you  not  tell  me  what  you  think?" 

"Cathy  has  always  been  excitable,"  Monica  avoided  look- 
ing at  him,  "but  it  is  ridiculous  to  say  that  she  is  mad. 
There  are  enormous  differences  between  the  conditions.  .  .  . 
I  have  felt  that  a  complete  rest  would  secure  her  return  to  a 
more  normal  state  of  mind.  Yet  she  goes  dead  against 
us."  She  paused  again.  "I  think  we  had  better  get  Miss 
Batten  down  and  find  out  the  truth  from  her." 


CHAPTER  XV 

WHEN  Batkins  received  a  summons  to  go  down  to  the  din- 
ing-room, her  knees  trembled,  and  she  felt  as  though  she  had 
pulses  beating  in  every  vein  of  her  small  body.  If  she 
could  see  Lorrimer  alone,  she  told  herself,  it  would  all  be 
quite  easy  to  explain,  but  there  was  something  about  Monica 
which  made  explanations  very  difficult,  unless  they  coincided 
with  her  own  views. 

She  looked  scared  and  frightened  as  she  stood  in  the 
doorway.  Lorrimer  was  looking  into  the  fire,  and  Monica, 
who  had  been  standing  close  to  him,  turned,  as  Miss  Bat- 
ten's fluttering  knock  sounded,  and  smiled  at  her  with  an 
entirely  un-encouraging  smile.  She  looked  towards  Lorri- 
mer for  his  usual  kindly  word,  but  he  neither  turned  nor 
spoke. 

"Sit  down,  Miss  Batten,"  Monica  said  in  her  professional 
tone.  "We  must  get  at  the  truth  of  what  has  happened  this 
afternoon.  Nurse  Binns  reports  that  you  allowed  Mrs. 
Lorrimer  to  go  out."  She  toyed  with  a  pencil  as  she  spoke. 
"I  need  not  tell  you  that  it  was  taking  a  very  grave  re- 
sponsibility upon  yourself."  She  raised  her  eyes  and  looked 
at  Miss  Batten  firmly.  "Did  you  not  try  to  interfere  with 
this  sudden  impulse?" 

"Mrs.  Lorrimer  wanted  to  go  out,"  Batkins  said  lamely. 
"The  day  was  so  fine  that  I  thought " 

Monica  made  a  stifled  sound  of  contempt,  and  Miss  Bat- 
ten's nerves  jumped  violently. 

"Mrs.  Lorrimer  saw  a  friend  of  hers  in  the  garden?" 

"Yes,"  Batkins'  voice  sounded  thin  and  reluctant. 

"Knowing  the  danger,  you  agreed  to  let  her  go  out  ?" 

Miss  Batten  looked  helplessly  around  her.  She  seemed 
to  be  compassed  about  with  invisible  foes,  and  she  wished 
desperately  that  Lorrimer  would  turn  and  speak.  He  would 
be  kind  and  he  would  understand. 

174 


CATHY  ROSSITER  175 

"I  did  reason  with  her,"  she  admitted,  and  her  eyes  grew 
vague. 

"You  should  have  stood  between  her  and  the  door,"  Doc- 
tor Henstock  said  impatiently.  "Really,  Miss  Batten,  you 
seem  to  be  quite  incapable  of  understanding  what  responsi- 
bility means." 

Batkins  flushed  painfully,  and  she  fiddled  with  the  lace 
edge  of  a  small  mat,  which  lay,  island-like,  on  the  polished 
table.  To  suffer  for  Cathy  was  in  itself  a  kind  of  glory, 
only  that  it  put  one,  somehow,  at  odds  with  everything, 
Lorrimer  included.  She  had  made  no  reply  to  Monica,  when 
Lorrimer  moved  heavily  and  turned  towards  her.  "I  am 
sure  you  did  what  you  could,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was 
intensely  unhappy. 

He  stood  behind  Doctor  Henstock's  chair  and  put  his 
hand  on  it ;  yet,  so  far,  Batkins  did  not  entirely  regard  them 
as  allies.  She  looked  up  gratefully,  and  spoke  with  less  con- 
straint. 

"Indeed  I  did,  Colonel  Lorrimer,  only  you  know  how 
hard  it  is  to  refuse  Mrs.  Lorrimer  anything.  For  a  little 
we  were  quite  undisturbed,  and  then  a  friend — some  one 
she  knew " 

"A  fellow  called  Barlow,"  Lorrimer  said,  and  he  looked 
down  at  Monica  as  he  spoke. 

"He  came  and  called  to  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  and  she  felt  that 
she  would  like  to  speak  to  him.  There  was  no  harm  in  it, 
I  thought " 

She  broke  off  again.  It  was  difficult  to  let  Lorrimer 
think  that  she  had  done  nothing  to  guard  his  treasure  from 
harm  or  danger. 

"I  am  sure  that  you  are  not  telling  us  everything,"  Lorri- 
mer raised  his  eyes  dully.  "Could  you  not  be  more  frank  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  a  little  more  regard  to  facts  would  help," 
Monica  said  shortly.  "And,  in  any  case,  Miss  Batten,  it  is 
no  use.  I  shall  get  the  facts  from  Mrs.  Lorrimer  in  the 
morning." 

"Are  you  trying  to  hide  something?"  Lorimer  asked  in 
the  same  dull,  disgusted  voice. 

"I  did  try  to  stop  her,"  Batkins  grew  desperate.    Cathy 


176  CATHY  ROSSITER 

would  tell  the  story,  that  was  certain.  Tell  it,  too,  with  ail 
the  vivid  exaggeration  of  a  good  raconteuse.  It  was  better 
that  these  two  who  fronted  her  should  have  the  facts  as 
they  were.  "Perhaps,"  she  went  on,  rallying  her  courage, 
"Nurse  Binns  made  too  much  of  it  all.  I  know  she  was 
angry  because  I  took  her  place  to-day.  I  ran  to  the  door, 
and  Mrs.  Lorrimer  said  that  she  was  twice  as  strong  as  I 
am,  even  though  she  was  an  invalid,  and  she  just  lifted  me 
out  of  the  way.  It  was  a  joke  .  .  .  the  whole  thing  was 
only  a  piece  of  fun,  Colonel  Lorrimer,  and  we  laughed  all 
the  time." 

Miss  Batten  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands,  and  looked 
the  picture  of  misery.  The  "joke"  was  a  thing  of  the  past. 

"Thank  you,  I  don't  think  I  need  keep  you  any  longer," 
Monica  said  frigidly,  and  Miss  Batten  rose  to  her  feet,  a 
wave  of  hysterical  emotion  sweeping  over  her. 

"I  can't  go,  feeling  that  I  haven't  convinced  you,"  she 
said,  ignoring  Monica  and  speaking  directly  to  Lorrimer; 
'"it  isn't  fair  to  Mrs.  Lorrimer.  Don't  listen  to  anyone." 
She  breathed  hard,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "Don't 
let  them  persuade  you  that  there  was  something  wrong  in 
what  Mrs.  Lorrimer  did.  They  will  make  trouble  between 
you  and  her  and " 

Monica  crossed  the  floor,  and  took  her  by  the  arm,  lead- 
ing her  to  the  door.  She  was  still  outwardly  kind,  but  Miss 
Batten  felt  that  she  was  inwardly  royally  angry  with  her. 

"You  have  said  more  than  you  meant  to,"  she  said,  and 
then  the  hand  which  held  Miss  Batten's  thin  arm  tightened 
its  grasp.  The  sleeve,  which  was  a  short  one,  had  been 
pulled  upwards  by  the  guiding  hand  of  Doctor  Henstock, 
and  her  glance  had  fallen  on  the  exposed  wrist.  She  did 
not  let  Miss  Batten  go,  and  speaking  over  her  shoulder  in 
the  same  level  tone,  she  addressed  Lorrimer. 

"Jack,  come  here  for  a  moment,  will  you?  Both  wrists, 
please,  Miss  Batten ;  it  is  no  use  trying  to  hide  them." 

The  least  thing  bruises  me,"  Batkins  spoke  urgently; 
"I  shall  have  a  bruised  arm  in  the  morning  where  you  held 
me  just  now;  anything  does  it " 

"Look  there  and  there,"  Monica  went  on,  indifferent  to 


CATHY  ROSSITER  177 

Miss  Batten's  repeated  assertions.  "I  think  that  is  pretty 
conclusive." 

Lorrimer  stood  sulkily  looking  at  the  faint  blue  marks, 
and  said  nothing,  either  good  or  bad;  Monica  patted  Miss 
Batten  on  the  shoulder. 

"I  thought  you  were  more  to  be  trusted  than  you  wanted 
us  to  believe,"  she  said,  with  sudden  friendliness;  and  at 
that  Batkins  burst  into  unrestrained  sobbing  and  left  the 
room  with  bowed  head. 

When  she  had  gone,  Monica  went  back  to  her  chair  and 
took  up  her  heavy  silver  pencil.  She  made  some  vague 
designs  on  the  mat  in  front  of  her,  and  looked  preoccupied 
and  troubled. 

"It  is  worse  than  I  thought,"  she  said  at  last,  without 
looking  up  at  Lorrimer,  who  was  pacing  the  room  slowly, 
his  head  bent  and  his  eyes  on  the  floor.  "It  looks  to  me, 
now,  as  though  Nurse  Binns  had  hardly  exaggerated." 

Lorrimer  came  to  a  standstill  before  her. 

"For  God's  sake,  explain  it,"  he  said.  "Has  she  actually 
allowed  herself  to  attack  this  wretched  creature?" 

"Of  course,  Miss  Batten  may  bruise  very  easily,"  Monica 
said,  ignoring  his  demand. 

"That  is  not  the  point.  Do  you  believe  that  Cathy  is  so 
madly  keen  on  this  blackguard  Barlow  that  she  allows  her- 
self to — oh,  it's  preposterous!" 

Monica  got  up  impulsively  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Don't  make  any  rash  judgments,"  she  said  persuasively. 
"Cathy  is  incapable  of  such  an  act,  unless  she  was  not  really 
and  truly  herself.  To  begin  with,  she  is  absolutely 
straight " 

"Yet  this  is  the  second  time  she  has  shown  that  so  long 
as  she  gets  to  Barlow  she  will  risk  anything.  She  killed  my 
love  for  her  that  other  time,  and  now  she  has  murdered  my 
confidence."  He  shook  off  Monica's  hand.  "You'll  stick 
up  for  her,  and  you  are  trying  to  explain  it  by  calling  it 
'nerves/  Nerves  be  damned !"  He  flung  away,  back  to  his 
angry  pacing.  "It's  the  eternal  excuse.  If  she  goes  on  like 
this  the  thing  is  bound  to  be  known.  Only  yesterday  Ham- 
mersly  warned  me  that  there  were  rumours  about,  and  that 


178  CATHY  ROSSITER 

people  had  got  hold  of  something.  My  wife  mixed  up  in  a 
scandal  with  Barlow.  God!  it's  enough  to  make  the  devils 
laugh." 

He  was  in  one  of  his  melodramatic  moods,  and  Monica 
knew  that  she  must  let  him  rage  through  it  to  the  end. 

"Why  did  I  ever  marry  her  ?"  he  went  on.  "Why  did  I  ? 
How  many  decent  fellows  have  asked  themselves  that  ques- 
tion at  the  end  of  a  couple  of  years  ?" 

"I  tell  you  Cathy  is  not  to  blame.  You  don't  understand," 
Monica  said  persistently,  and  then  he  weakened  suddenly 
and  knelt  beside  her. 

"Why  didn't  I  marry  you?"  he  asked.    "Was  I  mad?" 

"You  were  in  love,"  she  said,  the  strain  of  the  interview 
showing  in  her  eyes,  "and  Cathy  dazzled  you.  It  was  hardly 
strange.  Beside  her,  I  am  a  very  ordinary  kind  of  woman." 

"And  now,  where  are  we?" 

He  put  his  hands  on  hers,  and  they  felt  hot  and  dry. 

"We  must  not  think  of  that,"  she  said,  "it  does  no  good. 
The  real  question  is  what  we  can  do  for  Cathy.  Promise 
me  that  you  won't  say  anything  to  her  about  all  this.  Leave 
it  to  me." 

He  got  up  clumsily,  and  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  he  said,  "but,  after  all,  I  am  only  human. 
You  see,  we  don't  agree  as  to  the  conditions  that  exist." 

"I  don't  mean  to  argue  it  over  with  you  again,"  Monica 
said,  taking  up  her  coat.  "If  you  are  right,  knowing  Cathy 
as  I  do,  she  will  tell  you  that  she  cares  for  Barlow  and  in- 
tends to  go  to  him.  She  doesn't  care  a  rap  for  public  opin- 
ion. If  I  am  right,  and  it  is  nerves,  and  Cathy  isn't  really 
herself,  there  will  be  some  other  indication  in  the  course 
of  a  day  or  two." 

She  left  him  in  the  dining-room  and  walked  wearily  up 
the  wide  staircase  to  bed. 

Cathy  awoke  with  a  fine  sense  of  exhilaration.  She  lay 
cuddled  up  against  her  pillows,  and  the  idea  of  yet  another 
day  in  captivity  appeared  monstrous  and  absurd.  What  use 
was  it  to  be  alive  unless  one  did  some  living?  She  thought 
of  Jack,  and  decided  that  he  must  really  be  cajoled  into 


CATHY  ROSSITER  179 

common  sense.  She  intended  to  tell  him  the  whole  episode 
of  the  previous  day,  and  to  prove  by  plain  facts  that  her 
outing  had  only  done  her  good.  The  door  opened  softly, 
and  Nurse  Binns  came  gliding  into  the  room. 

"I  don't  want  you,"  Cathy  said,  sitting  up.  "There  is 
no  use  our  wasting  time  on  polite  fictions,  nurse.  I  shall 
get  up  now,  as  soon  as  you  are  gone,  and  you  need  not  come 
back.  Flora  will  bring  me  my  breakfast,  and  after  that  I 
shall  see  Colonel  Lorrimer." 

Nurse  Binns  appeared  to  consider  for  a  moment. 

"If  you  prefer  that  I  should  remain  in  the  sitting-room 
while  you  dress  ?"  she  said,  with  something  approaching  an 
effort  at  conciliation. 

"I  do  prefer  it."  Cathy  clasped  her  hands  round  her 
knees.  "I'm  sure,  if  I  met  you  anywhere  else,  Nurse  Binns, 
I  should  like  you,  but,  as  my  own  special  prison  warder,  I 
can't  say  I  do." 

Nurse  Binns  withdrew  silently,  and  Cathy  slid  out  of  bed. 
There  were  no  hairpins  anywhere  to  be  found,  so  she  twisted 
up  her  thick  plaits  and  tied  them  with  a  gold  ribbon.  It 
was  hateful  to  be  everlastingly  shadowed  by  these  people, 
who  belonged  to  death  rather  than  life,  and  who  all  knew 
so  much  about  corpses. 

To  her  relief,  her  sitting-room  was  empty,  and  her  break- 
fast had  been  laid  for  her  on  a  table  near  the  window. 
There  were  no  letters,  of  course,  and  no  paper.  Time  stood 
still,  and  a  wall  of  silence  divided  her  from  the  interests  of 
the  day's  beginning. 

With  nothing  to  read  and  nothing  to  do,  the  time  is  apt 
to  drag,  and  Cathy  sat  down  on  her  wide  sofa  and  began  to 
pull  the  heavy  silk  cord  off  one  of  the  many  large  cushions. 
She  felt  that  it  would  be  rather  amusing  to  empty  the  con- 
tents over  Monica,  if  she  ripped  the  whole  side  open.  Mug 
would  be  so  angry,  and  would  look  so  unlike  herself  with 
feathers  all  over  her  head. 

At  last  she  heard  the  key  turn,  and  Nurse  Binns  opened 
the  door  for  Flora,  one  of  the  upper  housemaids,  to  clear 
away  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  breakfast. 

"I  wish  I  was  you,  Flora,"  Cathy  said,  putting  her  feet 


i8o  CATHY  ROSSITER 

up  on  the  sofa.  "How  is  everyone  this  morning?  How  is 
Miss  Batten?" 

Flora  replied  that  Miss  Batten  was  going  away,  and  the 
news  startled  Cathy  into  astonished  speech. 

"But  going  away  ?    Surely  not.    Where  to  ?" 

Flora  knew  nothing  whatever  of  Miss  Batten's  plans.  All 
she  had  heard  came  to  her  through  Jakes,  the  chauffeur.  He 
had  been  told  that  he  was  to  take  Miss  Batten  to  the  ten- 
twenty  to  London,  and  she  was  at  that  moment  packing  her 
things. 

"Tell  her  to  come  to  me  at  once,"  Cathy  said;  "I  must 
see  her." 

Flora  disappeared,  her  round  face  full  of  wonder  and 
distress.  There  was  a  general  feeling  in  the  servants'  hall 
at  Kingslade  that  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  being  badly  treated. 
Servants  always  adored  Cathy  and  disliked  Monica,  and 
they  resented  some  touch  of  proprietorship  in  Doctor  Hen- 
stock's  manner.  The  whole  situation  was  charged  with  mys- 
tery, and  now  the  sudden  departure  of  Miss  Batten  added  to 
the  growing  impression  of  unrest. 

Left  alone,  Cathy  began  to  walk  about  the  room.  For 
the  first  time  since  she  had  been  convalescent  she  began 
to  feel  a  queer  touch  of  alarm.  She  felt  as  though  power 
was  slipping  from  her,  and  she  concluded  at  once  that  Bat- 
kins  was  being  evicted  because  of  her  own  action  the  pre- 
vious afternoon.  She  would  stop  it,  it  was  too  abominably 
unjust.  Directly  Flora  had  left  the  room  the  key  had  been 
turned  in  the  door,  and  Cathy  concluded  that  Nurse  Binns 
was  now  on  guard  outside. 

She  watched  the  clock  anxiously.  There  had  been  plenty 
of  time  for  Batkins  to  have  come,  and  yet  she  did  not  come. 
After  about  half  an  hour  had  dragged  through,  the  door 
was  unlocked  again  and  Lorrimer  came  in.  His  face  looked 
drawn  and  heavy  and  his  eyes  were  cold.  He  did  not  kiss 
her,  and  stood  at  the  window,  and  Cathy  remained  by  the 
sofa,  watching  him.  She  felt  desperately  sorry  for  him, 
seeing  him  so  troubled,  and  her  anger  died  away. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  "what  is  the  matter?  Do  let  us  clear 
up  this  horrible  mystery.  Why  is  Miss  Batten  leaving?" 


CATHY  ROSSITER  181 

"I  think  we  had  better  not  discuss  it,"  he  said,  speaking 
carefully.  "You  are  not  to  excite  yourself." 

Cathy  laughed.  It  was  so  ridiculous  to  deal  with  her  in 
that  way,  but  she  did  not  lose  her  temper. 

"Can't  we  have  free  speech?"  she  said,  coming  to  him 
and  putting  her  hands  on  his  shoulders.  "Is  Batkins  being 
sacrificed  to  Monica?  I  know  Mug  is  probably  very  angry 
with  her,  yet  none  of  it  was  her  fault.  Open  the  door  and 
let  us  go  down  together,  and  I'll  explain  everything." 

Lorrimer  took  her  hands  and  held  them  hard.  She  always 
put  a  kind  of  spell  upon  him,  and  it  was  torture  to  think 
that  she  was  utterly  false.  He  did  not  intend  to  speak  of 
Barlow,  but  his  wounded  self-esteem  hurt  desperately. 
Cathy  was  playing  with  him,  cajoling  him,  laughing  at  the 
weak  fool  in  her  heart.  She  was  not  suffering  from  nerves, 
that  was  merely  the  usual  feminine  fiction  produced  by  one 
woman  to  shelter  another.  Even  though  Monica  loved  him, 
she  was  true  to  the  free-masonry  of  her  sex,  and  she  sought 
excuses  for  Cathy. 

"I  was  a  bad  child,"  Cathy  went  on ;  "I  broke  rules  and 
ran  into  the  garden.  Bat  held  the  bridge  like  Horatius,  and 
was  most  gallant,  but  I  simply  pulled  her  out  of  the  way." 
Her  face  was  full  of  laughter  at  the  recollection.  "I  believe 
I  bruised  her  wrists,  but  I  had  to  go  out.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  had  to?"  Lorrimer  dropped  her  hands  and  stood 
unfesponsively  beside  her. 

"Yes,  because  Major  Barlow  said  he  must  speak  to  me." 
Cathy  ceased  to  smile,  arid  her  eyes  grew  earnest.  "Do  you 
know  that  they  are  saying  hateful  things  of  you,  Jack?  I 
see  no  papers  up  here,  and  it  was  news  to  me." 

"It  doesn't  interest  me  particularly,"  he  said  drily.  "No 
doubt  you  have  found  your  own  way  of  excusing  yourself."" 

She  drew  back,  and  her  sensitive  face  flushed.  Jack  was 
trying  to  be  downright  rude  to  her,  and  she  walked  from 
him  and  sat  down  on  the  sofa.  Yet  this  was  not  the  moment 
for  paltry  personal  dispute,  and  again  she  caught  back  her 
sense  of  proportion. 

"I  think  it  is  better  to  know  things,"  she  said  thought- 


1 82  CATHY  ROSSITER 

fully.  "People  say  you  have  gone  back  on  your  pledges; 
that  you  are  dishonest." 

It  was  not  easy  to  say  it,  but  Cathy  felt  the  truth  must 
be  stated  in  blunt,  ugly  terms. 

Lorrimer's  face  grew  a  dusky  red,  and  he  looked  at  her 
with  unveiled  hostility. 

"Anything  I  have  done  will  bear  daylight,"  he  said,  rais- 
ing his  voice  slightly ;  and  then  he  remembered  that,  where 
Monica  was  concerned,  this  was  hardly  the  fact.  The  know- 
ledge stung  him  and  added  to  his  anger.  If  he  had  strayed 
from  the  way  of  honest  dealing,  who  was  Cathy  to  reproach 
him?  "Understand,"  he  went  on  more  rapidly,  "I  have 
so  far  kept  from  saying  anything  likely  to  upset  you,  as 
Monica  says  your  nerves  are  in  a  bad  state,  but  there  are 
things  which  will  have  to  be  said  between  us,  sooner  or 
later." 

"Why  not  now?"  Cathy  asked  quietly. 

"Your  nerves,"  he  replied,  and  the  word  sounded  like  a 
taunt. 

"We  seem  to  have  got  into  a  strange  place,"  she  said  in 
the  same  quiet  voice.  "Is  this  really  us,  Jack?" 

"I  have  considered  you  in  everything,"  he  continued, 
working  himself  up  into  a  dull  passion  of  anger.  "When 
you  threw  away  all  our  hopes,  so  that  you  could  creep  out 
the  instant  my  back  was  turned  to  meet  Barlow,  I  did  not 
reproach  you." 

Cathy's  eyes  grew  wide  and  she  stared  at  him  blindly. 

"So  that  is  what  you  thought  ?"  she  said,  in  a  voice  hardly 
above  a  whisper. 

"I  tried  to  be  patient  with  you,  and  I  tried  to  believe  that 
it  was  all  some  damnable  mistake.  Now,  again,  you  have 
done  the  same  thing.  Barlow  comes  whistling  to  you  under 
the  window  and  you  run,  like  a  dog  to  its  -master.  The  poor 
creature  who  was  in  charge  of  you,  even  by  your  own  ac- 
count, tried  to  keep  you  back,  and  you  used  your  hands  to 
make  your  way  clear.  God !  it's  a  pretty  affair  altogether. 
As  you  are  concerned  about  the  truth  of  my  political  views 
and  interested  in  my  career,  you  had  better  know  that  it  is  a 
common  report  that  you  are  trafficking  with  the  Danielli 


CATHY  ROSSITER  183 

crowd.  That  is  a  little  thing  to  me,"  he  turned  away;  "it 
is  all  the  rest  that  is  so  vile." 

Cathy  had  listened  without  moving  from  where  she  sat 
If  Lorrimer  had  hit  her  across  the  face  she  could  not  have 
felt  more  hopelessly  astonished  and  affronted.  For  weeks 
he  had  cherished  these  feelings,  and  he  had  believed  her  to 
be  leagued  with  Barlow  against  him.  Worse  than  this,  he 
had  actually  accused  her  of  the  most  vulgar  and  sordid  in- 
trigue. She  felt  a  sudden  touch  of  giddiness  and  put  her 
hands  over  her  face. 

"I  don't  wonder  that  you  are  ashamed,"  he  said  savagely. 

He  had  exploded  the  fiction  of  "nerves,"  and,  having  let 
himself  go,  he  felt  like  continuing  to  punish  her.  There  was 
a  joy  in  it,  too,  for  she  was  obviously  crushed  and  beaten, 
and  he  felt  a  renewal  of  self-esteem. 

Cathy  removed  her  hands  and  stood  up. 

"Is  it  any  use  my  saying  that  all  you  have  said  is  untrue  ?" 
she  said,  looping  the  torn  cord  of  the  cushion  round  her 
fingers.  "I  don't  know  that  it  is.  There  are  times  when 
even  to  defend  oneself  seems  impossible.  If  you  really 
believe  all  you  say,  it  ends  things.  That  is  how  it  looks  to 
me." 

"Ends  things?"  Lorrimer  laughed.  "Ends  them?  Not 
quite  that.  You  happen  to  be  my  wife." 

"I  don't  feel  as  if  I  am."  Cathy  gave  a  ghost  of  a  smile. 
"No,  I  really  am  Cathy  Rossiter  still,  except  that  you  have 
been  able  to  speak  to  me  as  you  would  hardly  have  dared 
to  speak  to  her." 

"I  thought  you  might  not  altogether  appreciate  the  truth, 
though  you  professed  to  be  so  fond  of  it,"  he  said  roughly. 
"Anyhow,  we  know  how  we  stand." 

Cathy  said  nothing.  She  had  not  denied  any  of  the 
charges  he  had  made.  He  saw  that  she  was  going  to  speak 
again,  and  he  waited,  half  hoping  that  she  might  plead.  In 
the  end,  if  she  pleaded,  he  would  bring  himself  to  forgive- 
ness, but  there  were  all  those  bitter  words  lying  like  an 
ocean  between  them. 

"How  much  longer  do  I  remain  a  prisoner?"  she  asked, 
and  he  stared  at  her  with  his  heavy  eyes. 


1 84  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"I  asked  you  how  much  longer  I  am  to  remain  a  priso- 
ner ?"  she  repeated.  "As  you  admit  that  I  am  well  in  health, 
am  I  here  under  lock  and  key  to  prevent  my  meeting  Major 
Barlow?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  to  it,"  he  looked  towards  the  door, 
"Monica  considers  it  necessary." 

"And  does  Monica  hold  your  views  on  the  other  ques- 
tion?" 

"No,  she  doesn't."  He  spoke  as  though  he  was  uttering 

a  threat.  "She  is "  He  was  going  to  say  "too  honest 

herself,"  and  his  memories  smote  him. 

Monica  had  admitted  that  she  loved  him,  admitted  it  first 
with  slow,  painful  tears.  There  was  nothing  light  and  easy 
in  their  poor,  belated  romance.  Set  beside  Cathy's  treach- 
ery, it  was  pure  as  snow. 

"Then,  if  you  will  send  Monica  to  me,  I  shall  tell  her 
that  I  am  leaving  here  with  Miss  Batten.  Surely  Miss  Bat- 
ten's departure  can  be  delayed  a  little?" 

When  Lorrimer  came  in  the  door  had  not  been  locked, 
and,  as  Cathy  spoke,  it  opened  and  Monica  herself  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  and  she  glanced  at  Lorrimer.  There  was 
no  doubt  that  she  summed  up  the  situation  at  once,  and 
she  signed  to  him  to  leave. 

"Muggins,"  Cathy's  voice  was  charged  with  feeling, 
"Muggins." 

Lorrimer  looked  back  from  the  door,  and  saw  Cathy  hold 
out  both  her  hands  to  her  friend. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LORRIMER  watched  the  car  take  Miss  Batten  down  the  drive, 
and  wandered  wretchedly  about  his  smoking-room  waiting 
for  Monica  to  reappear.  He  was  likely  to  be  in  for  a  row 
with  Doctor  Henstock,  and  yet,  given  that  the  plea  of 
nerves  was  an  excuse,  he  felt  he  had  been  moderate. 

At  last  Monica  came.  She  came  very  quietly,  and  her 
face  was  grave. 

"I  have  done  what  I  can  to  quiet  her,"  she  said,  "but 
you  have  upset  the  work  of  weeks.  She  wanted  to  break 
away  at  once,  and  you  must  see  for  yourself  that  it  would 
only  mean  disaster.  If  there  was  that  sort  of  scandal  about 
you — oh,  Jack,  it  must  not  be."  She  was  cruelly  anxious 
and  her  anxiety  became  catching.  "Her  people  are  very 
powerful,  and  then,  if,  as  well  as  her  people,  you  had  the 
Danielli  group  saying  that  you  had  driven  her  out,  it  would 
ruin  you." 

"I  don't  believe  there  is  anything  the  matter  with  her," 
he  said  doggedly. 

The  truth  of  her  words  had  taken  effect,  and  Lorrimer 
became  more  subdued  in  manner. 

"I  told  her  that  she  might  go  in  two  days  from  now," 
Monica  went  on,  "and,  as  I  know  Cathy,  it  will  take  you  all 
your  time  to  persuade  her  out  of  her  resolution.  She  wanted 
to  wire  to  Robert  Amyas,  and  I  have  the  wire  here,  but,  of 
course,  shall  not  send  it." 

She  handed  the  telegraph  form  to  Lorrimer,  who  tore  it 
in  fragments,  and  then  threw  it  into  the  waste-paper  basket. 

"I  know  it  was  dreadfully  hard  for  you,"  she  said,  "but 
you  blundered  hopelessly.  It  isn't  the  least  use  your  seeing 
her  again  to-day.  To-morrow  she  may  be  better." 

Lorrimer  sat  down  heavily ;  he  was  profoundly  distressed. 

"She  denied  nothing,"  he  said. 

185 


1 86  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Did  you  expect  her  to?  I  don't  believe  in  the  idea  you 
have  got  hold  of,"  Monica  replied;  "Cathy  is  not  like  that. 
She  gets  all  sorts  of  notions  into  her  head,  and  she  has  al- 
ways been  lacking  in  balance." 

"If  she  is  locked  into  her  room  she  can't  very  well  meet 
Barlow  or  Amyas,"  Lorrimer  said,  and  there  was  a  sound 
of  satisfaction  in  his  voice. 

"You  can't  keep  her  locked  up  for  ever,  and  I  have  prom- 
ised her  that  in  two  days  she  will  be  free."  Monica  frowned 
slightly.  "Of  course,  if  Nurse  Binns  is  right,  Cathy  may 

easily  show  some  definite  sign  of "  She  stopped  on  the 

word,  and  went  on  smoothly.  "We  need  hardly  fear  that, 
however.  What  you  must  do — you  must,  Jack — is  to  make 
your  peace  with  Cathy,  and  take  her  away  for  a  bit."  She 
looked  plain  and  unhappy  as  she  spoke.  "It  will  be  best 
for  both  of  you  in  the  long  run." 

Lorrimer  took  up  his  hat  from  the  table. 

"I  shall  clear  out  to  London  until  to-morrow,"  he  said, 
squaring  his  elbows.  "It's  not  much  good  my  hangin'  round 
here.  If  I  have  to  come  to  apologise  for  speaking  the  truth, 
I  suppose  I  shall  have  to,  but  I  must  be  in  the  House  to- 
night." 

They  parted  very  formally,  and  Monica  watched  him  go, 
through  cold,  troubled  tears.  He  was  so  infinitely  dear  to 
her,  and  now,  Cathy  and  he  together  were  wrecking  life 
and  reputation  with  ruthless  disregard  for  both.  Her  own 
nerves  were  on  edge,  and  she  stood  in  a  very  difficult  situa- 
tion towards  both  the  man  she  loved  and  the  woman  who 
believed  her  to  be  her  friend. 

The  day  dragged  through  comfortlessly,  and  at  tea-time, 
when  she  had  again  told  Cathy  that  her  term  of  imprison- 
ment was  surely  drawing  to  its  close,  she  went  downstairs 
and  sat  in  the  wide  drawing-room  by  the  open  window, 
where  tea  was  laid  out  on  a  small  table. 

Why  could  not  she  and  Jack  be  happy  together,  and  let 
Cathy  go  ?  Open  the  window  and  allow  the  bird  of  strange 
plumage  to  escape? 

If  only  Cathy  could  really  fly  away  and  depart  as  though 
she  had  never  existed!  Her  own  desire  for  flight  was 


CATHY  ROSSITER  187 

strong,  but  Monica,  even  if  she  longed  for  it,  was  bound 
to  do  all  she  could  to  counter  any  such  act.  Her  position 
was  certainly  a  cruel  one,  and  she  thought  over  what  Nurse 
Binns  had  said  of  Cathy's  mental  state.  But  there  was  noth- 
ing to  go  upon  there.  Monica  sighed  as  she  stirred  her  tea. 

You  could  always  have  described  Cathy  as  eccentric,  but 
that  was  part  of  her  charm.  Plenty  of  people  were  eccen- 
tric, but  there  was  nothing  tangible  to  go  upon.  Again 
Monica  sighed.  She  was  permitting  herself  to  think 
thoughts  which  she  well  knew  to  be  futile  and  dangerous. 

She  was  interrupted  in  her  musings  by  the  arrival  of 
Hammersly.  He  came  in  upon  her  from  the  garden,  and 
stood  smiling  at  her  through  the  long  window,  dressed  in 
his  town  clothes,  and  wearing  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole. 
Hammersly  was  always  slightly  scented,  and  a  delicate 
aroma  of  verbena  was  wafted  towards  Doctor  Henstock. 

"Am  I  intruding?"  he  asked  in  his  liquid,  pleasant  voice. 
"I  saw  Lorrimer  in  London,  and,  being  rather  worried  about 
him,  I  felt  I  must  come  to  you." 

The  implied  compliment  made  Monica  flush  slightly,  and 
she  asked  Hammersly  to  come  in  and  have  some  tea. 

He  settled  himself  in  an  easy  chair,  and  Monica  began  to 
feel  that  there  was  something  wonderfully  persuasive  about 
the  man.  He  had  come  upon  her  at  a  moment  when  she 
was  rinding  herself  too  weak  to  battle  with  the  complexities 
of  life. 

"And  how  is  the  interesting  invalid?"  he  asked,  "Jack 
Lorrimer's  disaster." 

"Oh,  I  think  she  is  getting  on,"  Monica  said  composedly. 
"Besides,  you  know  that  I  don't  allow  you  to  call  her 
that." 

"Yet  I  do  call  her  that,"  he  replied,  and  he  laughed  his 
wonderfully  worldly  laugh  which  seemed  to  place  heaven 
and  hell  at  a  long  distance  from  the  green  planet.  "Let  us 
be  honest  with  each  other,  Doctor  Henstock.  We  both  know 
perfectly  well  that  Lorrimer  won't  go  an  inch — not  one 
inch,"  he  measured  it  on  his  little  finger,  "if  his  wife  can 
stop  him.  I  positively  dread  her  return  to  health  and 
sanity,  if  she  may  ever  be  regarded  as  really  sane." 


1 88  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"I  am  afraid  there  has  been  trouble,"  Monica  said,  after 
a  pause. 

To  relieve  her  mind  by  talking  things  over  with  Ham- 
mersly  was  a  temptation  too  strong  to  be  resisted. 

"So  I  gathered,"  he  said,  nodding.  "I  hear  that  friend 
Barlow  has  been  on  the  war-path.  I  am  not  a  Puritan," 
he  smiled  again,  "but  Barlow  sticks  in  my  throat.  It  is 
hardly  astonishing  that  Lorrimer  kicks.  I'd  kick  myself, 
if  I  were  in  his  place." 

"Cathy  means  nothing  by  it,"  Monica  said,  but  without 
heart. 

She  was  always  defending  Cathy,  and  she  was  growing 
to  wonder  whether  she  was  right  or  wrong.  Women  were 
secretive  towards  one  another  in  these  matters,  and,  quite 
possibly,  Cathy  might  really  go  further  in  her  friendships 
with  men  than  she  admitted. 

Hammersly  waved  his  hand,  and  replaced  his  cup  on 
the  table. 

"I  admit  your  greater  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  but  I 
do  not  admit  any  mistake,  from  the  world's  angle.  Seen 
from  the  common,  vulgar  standpoint,  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  phil- 
anderings  have  only  one  explanation,  and  that  is  the  least 
pleasant  one  for  her  husband.  Servants  talk,  my  dear  Doc- 
tor Henstock,  and  though  no  well-bred  person  listens  to 
what  servants  say,  there  are  a  quantity  of  ill-bred  people 
out  and  about,  who  are  not  so  particular.  It  is  all  over 
Kingslade  at  this  moment  that  Barlow  was  trespassing  in 
the  garden,  and  that  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  out  and  met  him 
there.  There  are  other  details,  embroideries  no  doubt, 
added  to  this.  The  young  and  romantic  under-gardener  is 
responsible  for  them." 

Monica  drew  a  deep  breath.  She  was  genuinely  worried, 
and  she  saw  her  fears  arise  like  an  armed  force. 

"What  can  be  done  ?"  she  asked  desperately. 

Hammersly  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"There  was  a  row,  wasn't  there?"  he  asked. 

"Unfortunately." 

"Mrs.  Lorrimer  is  hopelessly  undependable,"  he  said  mus- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  189 

ingly.  "If  she  has  a  grievance  against  Lorrimer  she  will 
stick  to  it.  What  was  your  advice?" 

"Peace,  peace  at  any  price,"  said  Monica. 

Hammersly  looked  at  her  steadily.  He  had  a  great  deal 
of  power  in  his  eyes,  which  were  never  shifty  but  always 
direct,  even  when  he  was  lying. 

"Do  you  not  know  the  ultimate  result  of  'Peace  at  any 
price'?"  he  asked.  "It  spells  bankruptcy.  Any  price  is 
prohibitive.  You  did  not  advise  well,  Doctor  Henstock." 

"There  is  the  danger  to  Jack's  reputation,"  she  said,  plac- 
ing her  own  points  before  him  as  they  came.  "Among  the 
people  he  must  count  on  working  with,  the  fact  of  any  kind 
of  scandal  connected  with  Cathy  would  be  simply  damning." 

"Agreed,"  said  Hammersly  briefly. 

"Then,  as  one  knows — certainly  as  I  know  in  my  pro- 
fessional capacity — there  are  times  when  most  married 
people  come  to  a  point  that  runs  close  to  disaster.  If  it  is 
fended  off,  it  very  often  works  out  all  right." 

"With  the  average  woman,  yes,  but  Mrs.  Lorrimer " 

Hammersly  made  a  quick,  expressive  gesture  with  his  flex- 
ible hands.  "I  think  myself  that  no  amount  of  patching 
will  make  your  peace  a  durable  one.  How  far  did  you  get, 
in  any  case?" 

"I  got  Jack  to  agree  to  making  an  apology,  and  I  quieted 
her  by  promising  that  there  is  to  be  an  end  of  my  treatment 
in  two  days.  I  am  simply  giving  up  the  case." 

"Then  there's  not  much  done  just  yet?" 

Monica  bowed  her  head  dejectedly. 

"It  is  a  bad  predicament,"  he  said,  after  a  pause.  "I 
don't  know  how  you  may  regard  friendships,  Doctor  Hen- 
stock,  but  I  feel  that  my  own  adherence  is  towards  Lorri- 
mer. Beyond  being  a  thoroughly  good  fellow,  he  is  a  man 
who  can  go  a  long  way,  provided  he  has  guidance.  Since 
Mrs.  Lorrimer's  influence  has  lessened,  his  chances  have 
grown  appreciably." 

"Well,  they  are  married,  and  there  is  no  way  out." 

Monica's  words  were  heavy  with  finality. 

"There  generally  is  a  way,"  Hammersly  narrowed  his 


i9o  CATHY  ROSSITER 

eyes;  "I  don't  exactly  see  it  in  this  connection,  yet  it  must 
be  there.  Am  I  keeping  you?" 

"No,"  Monica  said,  and  she  spoke  eagerly.  She  did  not 
want  Hammersly  to  leave.  He  was  comforting  to  her  in 
her  miserable  mood  of  depression. 

"Keep  her  where  she  is,  Doctor  Henstock.  Muzzle  her, 
do  anything  you  can,  only  don't  clear  out  just  when  it's  all 
so  important." 

"I  have  promised  to  let  her  do  as  she  likes  in  two  days, 
and  I  can't  go  back  on  it,"  Monica  said  firmly.  "I  told  you 
already  that  I  shall  give  up  the  case.  My  own  holiday" — 
she  laughed  mirthlessly — "if  one  can  call  it  such  a  thing,  is 
over,  and  I  have  to  go  back  to  my  work  then,  anyhow." 

"Couldn't  you  get  a  few  days  longer?" 

"If  it  were  a  case  of  life  and  death,  but  only  in  such  a 
case." 

Hammersly  got  up  and  stood  looking  out  into  the  garden. 

"In  every  event  of  life  there  is  always  the  gambling 
chance,"  he  said,  jingling  some  loose  money  in  his  pockets. 
"I've  backed  Lorrimer,  and  I  don't  intend  to  let  him  down." 

Monica  turned  her  head  sharply. 

"Do  you  accuse  me  of  letting  him  down?"  she  asked. 

"Not  at  all,  only  I  want  you  to  see  the  thing  as  a  whole, 
not  in  bits.  If,  for  instance,  there  is  any  chance  of  your 
being  able  to  use  any  influence  over  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  I  think 
you  should  use  it — and  use  it  ruthlessly."  He  turned  and 
faced  her  again.  "I  always  imagine,  though  she  is  your 
friend,  that  Lorrimer  has  also  a  claim  upon  you." 

"I  knew  him  ages  ago,"  Monica  said,  and  she  dropped 
her  eyes.  There  was  something  a  little  too  definite  about 
Hammersly's  eyes  and  it  did  not  please  her.  "We  were  old 
friends,  and  it  was  at  my  house  that  he  first  met  Cathy." 

"Then  his  mortgage  is  a  long-standing  one."  Hammersly 
smiled  at  her  bent  head.  "All  I  want  you  to  bear  in  mind 
now  is,  that  you  must  not  let  any  sense  of  bias  make  you 
deliberately  act  for  her  when  you  might  best  befriend  him." 

"Bias?    I  don't  follow  you." 

Monica's  voice  was  lowered,  and  she  did  not  look  up. 

"Any  feeling  that  because  he  is  a  man  and  she  is  a  woman, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  191 

you  must  assist  the  weaker  of  the  two.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  is 
not  really  weak,  and  she  has  a  world  full  of  allies.  She  has 
only  to  go  out  and  smile  at  people,  and  she  knocks  them 
over  like  ninepins.  Lorrimer  has  none  of  her  arts,  and  he 
is  an  exceptionally  lonely  human  creature." 

"You  seem  to  place  so  much  responsibility  on  my  shoul- 
ders," Monica  looked  up  at  last.  "It  isn't  fair  to  me.  I 
am  in  a  most  difficult  situation  as  it  is." 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  sounded 
admirably  sincere.  "If  ever  I  can,  you  know  that  you  may 
count  upon  me  to  the  utmost.  Words  are  easy,  we  both 
know  that,  but  I  mean  all  I  say." 

He  left  her,  taking  her  hand  and  holding  it  for  a  second, 
and  Monica  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  alone  once  more  with 
her  thoughts. 

Hammersly  wanted  time,  but  she  could  not  give  it.  She 
was  pledged  to  Cathy,  unless,  of  course,  something  entirely 
unforeseen  occurred.  Cathy  was  to  be  free  of  her  minis- 
trations and  was  fully  prepared  to  go  back  to  Lady  Carstairs 
pending  some  kind  of  legal  separation  from  Lorrimer. 
Time !  How  could  one  make  time  ?  Cathy  had  raged  glori- 
ously before  she  had  finished.  That  Lorrimer  had  coupled 
her  name  with  that  of  Barlow  was  in  itself  an  unforgivable 
affront;  and,  blameless  as  she  was,  to  be  accused  by  the 
man  she  had  fully  trusted,  was  to  be  swept  clear  away  from 
the  safe  harbour  where  she  had  anchored. 

Hammersly  had  been  so  persistent.  He  seemed  to  regard 
Monica  as  a  kind  of  all-powerful  being  who  might  intervene 
to  help.  She  sat  with  her  hands  palms  upwards  on  her 
knees,  in  an  attitude  of  defeat  towards  the  cumulative  forces 
ranged  against  her. 

Alone  in  her  own  room,  Cathy  had  passed  through  all  the 
circles  which  lead  to  the  dry,  arid  places  where  no  com- 
fort can  be  found.  She  had  not  cried,  but  her  eyes  were 
strained  and  lacked  their  usual  light.  The  one  feeling  which 
dominated  every  other  sensation  was  that  of  amazement 
mixed  with  dismay.  Life  had  spoilt  her  quite  consistently, 
and  she  had  never  before  come  face  to  face  with  the  cruelty 
of  the  individual.  Her  freedom  had  been  curtailed,  it  was 


1 92  CATHY  ROSSITER 

true,  but  she  knew  that  Monica  had  acted  for  her  own 
good.  Muggins  had  been  extraordinarily  kind  that  very 
morning,  and  had  comforted  her.  She  had  been  fair,  also, 
and  when  Cathy  told  her  that  she  would  bear  no  more  of 
the  tedious  treatment  which  Doctor  Henstock  felt  to  be 
necessary,  instead  of  taking  offence,  Monica  was  quite  sym- 
pathetic, and  had  explained  to  Cathy  that,  if  ill  came  of  it, 
she  must  inevitably  feel  greatly  to  blame.  Muggins  had 
been  like  the  old  Muggins  of  long  ago,  and  had  told  Cathy 
quietly  that  she  was  ready  to  accept  defeat  quite  reasonably. 
All  she  asked  in  return  was  that  Cathy  should  finish  the 
present  course  of  treatment,  a  matter  of  two  days  only. 
Monica  was  to  summon  Doctor  Carthew  from  London  to  see 
her  patient  when  she  herself  gave  up  the  case.  Doctor 
Carthew  was  an  extremely  popular  physician,  who  advised 
people  to  do  as  they  liked,  and  Muggins  made  a  wry  face, 
and  remarked  that  all  Cathy  need  do  was  to  look  her  best 
and  appear  cheerful. 

"Put  on  your  glad  rags,  Cath,  and  hypnotise  Carthew. 
He  will  let  you  have  your  own  way,  and  I  am  absolved, 
though  I  still  firmly  believe " 

Cathy  had  put  her  hand  over  Monica's  mouth  and  stopped 
further  argument  on  the  subject. 

All  this  was  splendid,  so  far  as  Cathy  was  concerned,  and 
had  there  been  the  wonderful  old  world  to  go  into — but  the 
old  world  had  fallen  to  pieces  and  there  were  those  hot,  red 
memories  of  anger  to  traverse,  and  the  recollection  of  Lorri- 
mer's  words  and  the  look  in  Lorrimer's  eyes.  He  had  di- 
vested himself  of  all  illusion,  and  Cathy  sat  crouched  in  the 
corner  of  the  sofa,  thinking  it  all  over.  She  would  go  back 
to  the  old  friends,  the  men  and  women  she  knew,  who  had 
loved  her  so  faithfully.  Twyford,  with  his  steady,  depend- 
able sincerity,  a  man  who  knew  what  people  really  were,  and 
who  did  not  need  to  be  told  things.  He  would  not  so  much 
as  ask  a  question  of  Cathy.  Either  he  believed  in  people 
and  concluded  that  the  reasons  they  had  for  their  actions 
were  valid  ones,  or  he  didn't  believe  in  them  at  any  time. 
Robert  Amyas,  with  his  weaknesses,  obvious  and  clear 
^enough,  but  with  his  fastidious  nature  and  his  quick  com- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  193 

prehension.  She  longed  to  be  home  again,  and  to  escape 
from  the  battered  sense  of  having  been  outraged  and  at- 
tacked, plastered  with  mud  and  affronted  beyond  bearing. 

Monica  had  spoken  of  Lorrimer's  career,  and  though  she 
had  done  so  out  of  a  good  heart,  Cathy  grew  rigid  at  the 
word.  It  was  this  perpetual  desire  to  climb  which  she  hated 
more  than  anything  else,  and  the  argument  was  useless  in 
her  case.  Lorrimer's  career  was  more  to  him  than  his 
honesty;  he  had  spoken  himself  of  the  possibility  of  her 
doing  him  political  damage,  and  Cathy,  who  was  never  very 
fair  at  any  time,  was  less  so  than  usual  towards  her  hus- 
band's aspirations.  He  was  veering  with  every  wind,  and 
trimming  his  sails  carefully.  That  alone  would  have  made 
things  difficult  between  them.  Added  to  this,  there  was  his 
other  action — unbelievably  gross  in  her  eyes. 

It  was  desperately  important  that  she  should  look  well 
when  Doctor  Carthew  came  to  see  her,  and  as  dusk  began 
to  draw  fine  veils  over  the  evening  sky  Cathy  grew  anxious 
about  herself.  If  Doctor  Carthew  gave  her  even  a  day 
longer  of  incarceration  she  felt  she  might  do  almost  any- 
thing. Tear  her  sheets  up  and  let  herself  out  by  the  window. 
Anything  at  all  so  that  she  could  escape.  The  longing  to 
be  away,  out  of  Kingslade  and  anywhere  else,  strengthened 
with  the  ticking  of  the  clock.  Janey  Greenaway's  flat  would 
be  Paradise  by  comparison,  and  Janey  would  not  be  a  foe. 
She  would  give  her  tea  to  drink,  and  treat  the  whole  matter 
as  being  merely  one  of  the  ordinary  events  of  life.  The 
"Danielli  crowd"  lived  a  cinema  existence  normally,  and 
nothing  was  strange  or  amazing  to  them.  Still,  it  would 
be  better  to  go  away  without  having  to  resort  to  such 
methods. 

Opening  the  door  of  communication  between  her  sitting- 
room  and  bedroom,  she  went  in  and  sat  down  before  her 
dressing-table.  Her  nail  scissors  were  removed,  and  her 
food  had  been  sent  to  her  that  day  without  any  knife  on 
the  tray.  Nurse  Binns  had  told  her  that  it  was  to  "save  her 
effort,"  and  Cathy,  under  the  stress  of  other  emotions,  had 
forgotten  to  speak  of  it  to  Monica. 

2v  ta*  dimness  of  the  room  her  own  reflection  looked 


i94  CATHY  ROSSITER 

ghostly  and  wistful,  and  the  whole  full  sense  of  trouble  and 
isolation  swept  across  her,  making  her  eyelids  smart  with 
unshed  tears.  Where  was  poor  Batkins,  she  thought.  She 
must  find  her  directly  she  got  back  to  London,  and  do  some- 
thing to  help  her.  Batkins  was  being  held  responsible  for 
what  had  been  no  earthly  fault  of  hers. 

It  became  too  dark  to  see  very  well,  and  she  turned  on 
the  light  over  the  mirror  and  again  caught  sight  of  her  own 
face.  She  was  showing  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  emotional 
day  only  too  plainly,  for  Cathy  had  the  type  of  face  which 
"pities  itself,"  and  already  she  was  very  pale,  and  there 
were  heavy  lines  around  her  eyes. 

"I  shall  look  a  holy  show  if  I  don't  sleep,"  she  thought 
desperately,  and  the  palms  of  her  hands  grew  moist.  She 
was  afraid  to  think  of  any  possibility  of  failure,  and  she 
got  up  and  walked  to  her  bed.  Nurse  Binns  had  been  into 
her  room  a  little  while  before,  and  Cathy  saw  a  thermometer 
and  a  small  glass  tube  lying  on  the  gorgeous  silk  quilt.  Nurse 
Binns  had  evidently  forgotten  some  of  the  hateful  parapher- 
nalia of  her  calling,  and  Cathy  took  up  the  tube  and  looked 
at  it  carefully.  It  was  full  of  flat,  white  tablets,  one  upon 
another,  and  there  was  a  wad  of  cotton- wool  and  a  small 
cork  in  the  top.  On  a  slip  of  paper  gummed  on  the  side 
she  read  the  printed  words,  "To  be  taken  when  sleep  is  re- 
quired," and  nothing  further.  Opening  the  tube  she  let  the 
waferlike  contents  fall  into  the  palm  of  her  hand.  These 
simple  little  things  would  make  her  sleep,  and  if  she  could 
sleep  she  need  fear  nothing.  The  question  was,  how  many 
she  could  safely  take  ?  Cathy  was  reckless  towards  quanti- 
ties, and  her  lack  of  mental  exactitude  made  her  indifferent 
to  risk.  If  she  took  only  enough  to  make  her  wake  at  mid- 
night she  would  be  an  even  more  wretched  Cathy  next  day. 
She  poured  herself  out  a  glass  of  water.  Nurse  Binns  would 
be  upon  her  at  any  minute,  and  she  had  not  time  for  long 
consideration.  Would  three  do  ?  She  swallowed  them  down 
quickly.  Then,  if  they  didn't  ?  A  noise  in  the  corridor  made 
her  start  and  sent  her  heart  beating  rapidly.  Better  take 
five,  and  be  on  the  right  side.  She  gulped  down  a  mouthful 


CATHY  ROSSITER  195 

of  water.  It  was  done  now,  anyhow,  and  she  need  not  fear 
the  dragging  eternity  of  the  night  hours. 

Walking  to  the  window,  she  dropped  the  small  tube  into 
a  bed  of  irises  below,  and,  as  she  did  so,  Nurse  Binns  came 
into  the  room,  hastened  her  footsteps,  and  caught  her  by 
both  arms. 

Cathy  drew  back,  and,  shaking  free,  regarded  Nurse 
Binns  with  a  look  of  astonishment. 

"What  do  you  think  you  are  doing?"  she  asked.  "Are 
you  mad?" 

"I  thought  for  a  moment  that  you  might  fall,"  Nurse 
Binns  replied,  and  they  stood  facing  one  another. 

"Only  two  more  days,"  Cathy  said  to  herself,  "and  it 
must  not  be  more  than  that." 

It  quieted  her,  and  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  inevitable 
and  deadly  process  of  being  washed  and  brushed  and  put 
to  bed  before  nine  o'clock. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LORRIMER  was  staying  at  his  club,  and  on  the  whole  he  was 
feeling  considerably  better. 

It  was  true  that  he  had  been  brooding  angrily  for  weeks, 
and  nursing  his  wrath  against  Cathy,  but  the  actual  quar- 
rel when  thought  had  burst  into  speech  was  sharp  and  sud- 
den. It  was  even  possible  to  forget  it,  and  Lorrimer  had 
dined  a  few  friends  very  successfully  the  previous  night. 
He  was  on  quite  good  terms  with  himself  when  he  went 
to  bed,  but  the  morning  brought  with  it  a  recall  to  the  dreary 
facts  which  faced  him.  He  was  actively  disturbed  at  the 
prospect  of  any  open  break  between  them,  and  it  made  him 
nervous  and  jumpy.  Any  normally-minded  woman  made 
nothing  of  a  row,  and  it  was  ridiculous  of  Cathy  to  get  on 
stilts  and  talk  of  clearing  out.  The  awkward  part  of  the 
problem  was  that  Monica  seemed  so  certain  Cathy  actually 
meant  all  she  said. 

As  he  ate  his  breakfast  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
could  not  afford  a  public  scandal,  and  he  humped  his  heavy 
shoulders  and  decided  to  climb  down.  The  previous  night 
Barlow  and  some  malcontents  had  tried  to  make  a  noise  in 
the  House,  Barlow  and  the  usual  following  of  shrieking 
women,  but  they  had  been  ejected,  and  that  had  done  Lorri- 
mer quite  a  lot  of  good.  He  had  not  a  forgiving  disposi- 
tion, and  he  owed  Barlow  one,  a  debt  he  fully  intended  to 
pay. 

Lorrimer  had  finished  breakfast,  and  was  reading  fhe 
paper  when  he  heard  one  of  the  pages  who  lived  a  sprite- 
like  existence  of  highly  sophisticated  energy  at  his  club, 
calling  his  name,  and  he  turned  and  signed  to  the  carrot- 
headed  urchin,  telling  him  at  the  same  time  not  to  make  so 
much  noise.  He  was  wanted  on  the  telephone,  and  getting 
up,  he  walked  through  the  hall  and  into  one  of  the  boxes 

196 


CATHY  ROSSITER  197 

in  a  vestibule  at  the  back.  He  had  no  premonition  of  any 
sort  as  he  lifted  the  receiver  and  grunted  the  usual  curt 
"Hullo";  but  his  face  altered* quickly,  and  his  hand  began 
to  shake.  Monica  was  speaking,  and  she  talked  rapidly. 
Cathy,  the  wild,  reckless  woman  he  had  married,  had  at- 
tempted to  take  her  life,  and  very  nearly  succeeded.  The 
broken  sentences  came  to  him,  and  a  cockney  voice  broke 
in,  asking  him  some  perfectly  inconsequent  question.  Nurse 
Binns  had  found  her  at  the  window  the  evening  before,  and 
had  just  stopped  her  throwing  herself  out.  Had  she  ad- 
ministered the  usual  opiate  Cathy  would  now  be  dead. 

Lorrimer  listened  like  a  man  bemused.  It  was  so  ut- 
terly unexpected,  for,  of  all  things,  Cathy  loved  life,  and 
for  her  to  choose  quite  suddenly  to  end  it  was  wholly  in- 
comprehensible. 

Monica  assured  him  that  there  was  now  no  danger.  She 
had  saved  the  situation,  and  though  still  drugged  and  half 
asleep,  Cathy  had  been  dragged  back  from  the  black  abyss. 
He  was  to  lose  no  time  in  coming,  as  there  must  be  an  im- 
mediate consultation,  and  absolute  secrecy. 

"We  can't  let  it  get  into  the  Police  Courts,"  she  had  said 
before  she  rang  off,  and  Lorrimer  wondered  what  in  the 
world  she  could  mean  by  that. 

A  taxi  would  run  him  down  to  Kingslade  inside  an  hour, 
but  Lorrimer  was  still  unable  to  grapple  with  the  new  turn 
of  events.  To  take  deliberately  an  over-dose  of  a  powerful 
narcotic  seemed  like  the  act  of  a  mad  woman,  and  Lorrimer's 
own  determination  to  live  as  long  as  possible  made  him 
shrink  from  the  idea.  He  could  not  tell  what  he  felt.  Re- 
lief that  Cathy  had  failed  in  her  wretched  attempt,  and  a 
dim  conviction  that  it  somehow  put  her  away  into  an  un- 
known region  where  the  sane  could  not  penetrate.  Slowly, 
very  slowly,  the  truth  began  to  dawn  upon  the  darkness 
which  had  at  first  closed  over  him.  Cathy  was  losing  her 
hold  upon  the  ordered  way  of  life,  and  he  had  been  dam- 
nably hard  on  her.  Insanity  is  a  vague  term,  and  yet,  if 
she  were  not  wholly  sane,  it  explained  things,  and,  in  a 
way,  exonerated  her.  Then,  again,  what  was  a  man  to  do  ? 
Ought  he  to  tell  Lady  Carstairs  and  ask  if  there  were  any 


i98  CATHY  ROSSITER 

strain  in  the  family  to  account  for  it?  Not  a  very  easy 
question  to  put  to  Cathy's  aunt.  He  thought  of  how  people 
would  speak  of  it,  and  point  him  out.  "That's  Lorrimer,  the 
fellow  who  married  a  mad  woman,"  and  then,  what  in  the 
world  did  one  do?  God!  it  was  awful. 

The  whole  house  was  still  in  confusion  when  he  arrived, 
and  Hammersly  met  him  with  unspoken  sympathy.  Lorri- 
mer looked  at  him  questioningly,  he  wanted  to  know  what 
he  thought,  but  Hammersly  kept  his  thoughts  to  himself. 

"It  was  touch  and  go,"  he  said;  "and,  by  the  way,  Lorri- 
mer, none  of  the  servants  know.  They  think  it  was  a  heart 
attack.  It's  just  as  well  to  keep  the  thing  quiet." 

By  mid-day  Cathy  was  over  the  crisis,  and  Monica  came 
downstairs  looking  terribly  worn  and  weary.  She  told 
Lorrimer  to  go  up  and  see  Cathy,  but  warned  him  to  be  very 
gentle  with  her.  She  had  said,  and  stuck  to  it,  that  she 
wanted  to  sleep. 

"You  must  agree  with  her,"  Monica  said  in  a  tired  voice. 
"On  no  account  excite  her.  She  can't  be  left  alone  now, 
even  for  a  moment." 

Lorrimer  left  the  room,  and  Hammersly  poured  out  a 
glass  of  liqueur  brandy  and  gave  it  to  Doctor  Henstock. 

"It's  time  we  had  a  talk,"  he  remarked  as  she  drank  a 
little  and  he  saw  the  colour  return  to  her  face. 

"Her  story  is  that  she  knew  she  would  not  sleep,  and 
that  she  just  took  a  good,  stiff  dose,  so  as  to  be  on  the  safe 
side." 

"Ah,  that  is  what  she  would  be  likely  to  say,"  Hammersly 
replied.  "It's  a  Police  Court  case,  as  I  told  you.  Poor  old 
Lorrimer,  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  speak  of  it  to  him." 

"It  can  be  hushed  up,"  Monica  tapped  her  fingers  on  the 
table;  "there  is  no  need  for  that.  No  one  knows  anything 
except  ourselves,  and  she  is  over  it  now." 

"And  aware  that  she  has  run  things  rather  fine?" 

"No.  She  took  it  quite  calmly,  and  I  don't  know.  .  .  . 
After  all,  it  may  be  just  as  she  says." 

"What  does  she  talk  of  now  ?" 

"The  same  thing.    She  is  longing  to  get  away." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  199 

Hammersly  whistled  softly  to  himself,  and  reflected  for  a 
moment. 

"Will  there  be  an  amicable  interview  up  there,  this  time  ?" 
he  nodded  his  head  towards  the  door.  "Can  Lorrimer  gain 
time?" 

Monica  pressed  her  hand  to  her  face,  and  he  felt  that 
she  was  near  to  tears. 

"Come,"  he  said,  firmly.  "We  spoke  quite  honestly  yes- 
terday, let  us  have  the  courage  to  be  honest  again.  If  you 
allow  her  freedom  and  she  attempts  to  take  her  life  again, 
with  success,  how  will  you  stand?  Regard  her  as  an  ordi- 
nary case.  What  would  be  your  duty?" 

"I  believe,"  Monica  rallied  herself  and  spoke  more  in 
her  usual  way,  "that  anyone  who  deliberately  attempts 
suicide  is  temporarily  insane." 

"And  you  do  not  credit  the  theory  that  this  was  a  de- 
liberate attempt?" 

"I  can't — I  can't,"  Monica  said  desperately.  "You  don't 
know  how  fearfully  difficult  it  is  for  me." 

"Yet  I  think  I  do  know."  He  sat  down  near  her  and 
watched  her  closely.  "Surely  you  have  some  sense  of  what 
is  due  to  Lorrimer.  Personally,  I  regard  this  sudden  frenzy 
on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Lorrimer  as  the  one  well-chosen  act  of 
her  life.  She  has  done  it  in  the  nick  of  time." 

"How  can  that  be?"  Monica  folded  her  hands  one  over 
the  other. 

"Because  it  gets  her  into  safe  keeping.  In  these  days 
there  is  no  hardship  connected  with  mental  treatment.  Of 
course  I  haven't  the  smallest  right  to  suggest,  but  if  it  was 
the  case  of  my  own  sister — seeing  I  have  no  wife — I  would 
act  immediately." 

He  glanced  up,  as  Lorrimer  came  back  and  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

"She  admits  nothing,"  he  said,  closing  the  door  carefully. 
"It's  beyond  me,  Monica.  I  thought  she  would  at  least  be 
sorry,  but  she  can't  understand  what  she  has  done,  or  the 
gravity  of  it." 

"Did  you  make  it  up?" 


200  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Monica  raised  her  eyes,  and  Lorrimer  looked  at  her  des- 
perately, i 

"Nothing  is  altered,"  he  said,  and  he  sat  down  at  the 
table.  "It's  all  hopeless.  She  wants  to  go  back  to  Lady 
Carstairs,  after  you  and  the  London  fellow  have  had  your 
consultation  to-morrow,  and  she  sticks  to  that.  I  asked  her 
if  she  knew  what  she  was  doing  when  she  took  the  stuff, 
and  she  said  she  only  wanted  a  good  night's  sleep."  He 
sighed  heavily.  "Nurse  Binns  said  that  Cathy  was  certainly 
going  to  throw  herself  out  of  the  window,  and  she  just 
caught  her  in  time."  He  glanced  around  him  suddenly. 
"Can't  you  tell  me  the  truth  ?  Drop  pretences,  Monica,  for 
God's  sake,  and  let  me  have  it." 

Monica  hesitated,  and  Hammersly  spoke,  his  rich,  deep 
voice  sounding  in  the  room. 

"It  would  be  best,"  he  said.  "I  know  that  Doctor  Hen- 
stock,  very  naturally,  feels  the  utmost  disinclination  to  ad- 
mit what  is  only  too  clear.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  is  a  danger  to 
herself." 

"She  is  mad,  then?" 

Lorrimer  spoke  to  Monica. 

"I  ought  to  get  another  opinion,"  Monica  said,  bending 
forward  a  little ;  "Jack,  it's  all  so  close  to  me " 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  they  did  not  speak 
for  a  second,  and  then  Monica  looked  away. 

"It  need  only  be  temporary,"  she  said,  "and  though  it  is 
the  hardest  thing  I  have  ever  had  to  do,  it  might  be  for  the 
best." 

"Would  she  be  cured  in  an — one  of  those  places  ?" 

"Certainly  she  would." 

"If  nothing  is  done  she  will  fight  to  get  out  and  go  to 
Lady  Carstairs.  I  told  you,  didn't  I  ?" — he  passed  his  hand 
over  his  forehead — "that  she  was  as  keen  as  ever  on  that? 
She  talked  also  of  a  legal  separation.  If  she  was  under 
supervision  she  might  get  over  all  this " 

Hammersly  coughed  a  discreet  cough,  and  spoke  again. 

"The  main  thing  is  to  do  the  best  for  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  who 
is  in  no  state  to  choose  for  herself.  As  it  has  happened,  no 
one  need  know  anything  whatever.  Luke,  the  doctor  who 


CATHY  ROSSITER  201 

was  called  in  at  the  time  Mrs.  Lorrimer  acted  so  wildly 
before,  can  be  trusted  to  keep  quiet."  They  both  watched 
him  attentively  as  though  receiving  orders.  "For  certifica- 
tion, you  need  the  opinion  of  two  doctors  who  have  not  met 
in  consultation,  and  an  order  signed  by  a  J.P.  That  part 
of  it  I  can  do,  and,  if  you  petition,  the  whole  business  can 
be  carried  through  without  the  smallest  hitch." 

"I  have  always  thought  it  such  a  tremendous  responsi- 
bility," Monica  said,  murmuring  the  words  to  herself. 

"When  she  is  well,  she  comes  back,  and  there  is  no  one, 
except  ourselves,  who  knows  a  thing  about  it,"  Hammersly 
said.  "Surely  that  is  preferable  to  allowing  her  freedom 
when  we  know  what  she  is  capable  of  doing  even  when  she 
is  closely  guarded."  He  got  up  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
"I  must  be  off,"  he  said,  turning  to  Lorrimer,  "and  don't 
regard  me  as  an  interfering  idiot,  mixing  myself  up  in  what 
is  none  of  my  business;  but  I  was  here  early,  and  I  saw 
Doctor  Henstock  at  that  time." 

"Come  back  and  dine  here,"  Lorrimer  said  as  he  left; 
"it  will  have  given  one  a  little  time  to  think  it  over." 

They  were  alone  now,  and  Lorrimer  put  his  arms  on  the 
table  and  stared  dully  before  him. 

"Hammersly  is  right,"  he  said  at  last.  "It's  the  only 
thing  to  do  with  her." 

Monica  came  to  him,  and  pressed  her  hands  over  his 
burning  forehead. 

"Jack,  it's  the  knowledge  that  I  care  so  for  you  which 
makes  me  hesitate.  I  don't  want  much  out  of  life,  now,  and 
what  I  want  would  be  easy,  if  Cathy  were  away.  But 
Cathy  away,  with  her  own  people,  and  making  havoc  of  all 
your  great  chances  is  a  solution  I  can't  accept.  This  other 
plan  seems  too  much  like  taking  what  one  wants,  because 
one  wants  it,  and  I've  always  tried  to  play  the  game."  Her 
face  quivered,  but  she  controlled  herself  with  an  effort. 

"Let  us  try  to  be  clear,"  he  said,  and  he  took  her  hands 
in  his.  "If  we  put  ourselves  out  of  it  we  can  get  at  it  better. 
Are  these  places  all  right?  She  would  be  comfortable  and 
well  looked  after,  and  all  that?"  He  got  up  with  a  violent 
gesture  and  paced  the  floor.  "I  can't  feel  that  she  is  now 


202  CATHY  ROSSITER 

anything  to  me.  Poor  soul,  poor  wretched  soul,  and  yet 
she  speaks  and  looks  the  same.  Still;  to  try  and  kill  her- 
self  " 

"If  she  really  did  try,"  Monica  said  slowly. 

"Well,  Nurse  Binns  swears  to  it,  and "  he  stood  be- 
fore her  and  searched  her  face  with  his  eyes,  "God!  what 
a  relief  it  would  be  to  have  this  nightmare  over." 

Monica  walked  to  her  chair  and  sat  down,  clasping  the 
carved  arms  with  tense  hands. 

"Then  let  us  have  it  so,"  she  said. 

After  dinner  the  same  evening,  they  sat  again  in  the 
smoking-room,  and  Lorrimer  had  left  the  period  of  doubt, 
hesitation  and  sentiment  behind  him.  Monica,  too,  had  re- 
turned to  her  quiet,  determined  attitude  towards  life.  Some- 
thing definite  had  been  arrived  at  by  all  three,  though  Ham- 
mersly  could  never  have  been  said  to  have  wavered  from 
his  own  original  decision.  He  sat  by  the  table,  and  Lorrimer 
and  Monica  were  in  the  shadow. 

"I  can  get  the  necessary  formalities  arranged  at  once," 
he  said,  looking  at  Lorrimer.  "If  Mrs.  Lorrimer  were  in 
a  fit  state  to  be  trusted  with  the  facts  of  her  own  case  she 
might  be  registered  as  a  voluntary  boarder." 

"That  is  impossible,"  Monica  disposed  of  the  suggestion. 
"The  only  way  to  avoid  a  very  dangerous  recurrence  of 
some  mental  attack  is  to  guard  her  from  the  smallest  sus- 
picion of  what  has  to  be  done.  She  must  believe  that  she 
is  being  taken  to  London,  and  my  suggestion  is  that  she 
should  be  motored  over  to  Welldon  Grange." 

"How  far  is  it?" 

Lorrimer's  voice  broke  in,  and  he  moved  in  his  chair. 

"About  fifteen  miles,"  Hammersly  replied.  "It  is  a  fine 
place,  standing  in  huge  grounds." 

"I  know  Doctor  Chapman,"  Monica  spoke  again,  "and  I 
had  a  talk  with  him  over  the  telephone  this  afternoon.  He 
is  a  most  sympathetic  and  clever  man.  If  he  finds  that 
Cathy  is  really  only  suffering  from  hysteria  he  won't  keep 
her  a  day." 

Silence  fell  again  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  Hammersly 


CATHY  ROSSITER  203 

lifted  his  tumbler  of  whisky  and  soda,  and  drank  thought- 
fully. 

"Luke  will  be  here  in  the  morning,"  he  said,  "at  ten 
o'clock.  How  do  you  propose  to  explain  him,  and  account 
for  the  fact  that  the  other  doctor  has  not  come  ?" 

"That  will  be  done,"  Monica  said  reservedly. 

She  had  her  own  idea  on  the  subject,  and  she  did  not 
care  to  discuss  it. 

"He  will  certify,  I  suppose?"  Lorrimer  asked. 

"Of  course  no  one  can  say  that  he  will,  for  certain." 
Hammersly's  words  sounded  doubtful,  but  neither  Monica 
nor  Lorrimer  took  any  special  notice  of  them.  "All  that  is 
required  is  the  evidence  that  he  will  want  from  Nurse  Binns. 
He  and  Doctor  Henstock  will  each  certify  the  patient  inde- 
pendently. My  own  part  in  the  business  does  not  make  it 
necessary  for  me  to  see  Mrs.  Lorrimer." 

"By  God!"  Lorrimer  said,  with  sudden  violence,  "it  is 
easy  enough  in  all  conscience.  Is  that  the  law?" 

Hammersly  nodded.  "That  is  the  law.  It  is  loose,  as 
you  see.  For  instance,  if,  for  reasons  of  your  own,  you 
wanted  to  lock  up  your  wife,  and  not  only  your  wife,  but 
anyone  who  was  your  dependent,  you  could  do  so.  It  is 
because  we  all  have  such  faith  in  the  medical  profession," 
he  bowed  towards  Monica,  "that  such  a  law  can  stand." 

The  subject  seemed  suddenly  to  grow  intensely  unpleas- 
ant to  his  hearers,  and  Hammersly  spoke  of  Welldon  Grange 
and  the  many  cures  which  had  been  made  there. 

Two  words  were  avoided  by  all  three — the  word  "asylum" 
and  the  word  "lunatic";  it  was  as  though,  by  calling  the 
madhouse  another  name,  they  were  lessening  the  doomed 
sound,  and  making  it  all  normal  and  even  attractive.  The 
inmates  were  "patients,"  and  the  mysterious  process  called 
"mental  treatment"  was  spoken  of  between  them,  but  they 
never  once  spoke  of  Cathy  as  being  insane. 

Monica  went  into  Cathy's  room  late  that  night,  and 
found  that  she  was  still  awake. 

"Mug,  Mug,  you  darling,  I  am  feeling  quite  well,"  Cathy 
held  out  her  white  arms  and  clasped  them  round  her  friend's 


204  CATHY  ROSSITER 

shoulders;  "I  am  so  repentant,  really,  and  it  was  a  silly 
thing  to  do,  but  it's  all  right,  and  you  were  splendid." 

"Try  and  sleep,"  Monica  said,  smoothing  back  her  hair ; 
"I  have  a  surprise  for  you,  to-morrow." 

"Tell  me  now,"  Cathy  said  persuasively;  "I  hate  to  be 
told  bits  and  bats — and,  talking  of  Bats,  I  must  get  Batkins' 
address ;  she  is  on  my  mind." 

"Very  well,  then,"  Monica  sat  up  and  disentangled  her- 
self from  Cathy's  clasp;  "I  am  having  in  old  Luke,  you  re- 
member the  man  who  came  that  other  time." 

Cathy  shuddered,  and  stared  at  Monica  in  astonishment. 

"But  why  Luke?  Mug,  I  don't  like  him.  He  smelt  of 
gin  or  rum  or  something  nasty." 

"I  am  thinking  of  letting  you  go  to-morrow,"  Monica 
said,  "and  Luke  will  do  as  well  as  anyone  else,  in  the  cir- 
cumstances." 

"You  know  best,"  Cathy  agreed.  "And  I  really  go  back 
to-morrow  ?  Can  I  ring  up  Aunt  Amy  after  breakfast  ?" 

Monica  said  nothing  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  she 
spoke. 

"I  think  you  had  better  leave  everything  to  me,"  she  said 
at  last;  "my  plan  is  that  you  should  be  motored  out  for  a 
good  blow  of  fresh  air  first,  and  have  lunch  out." 

Cathy  caught  her  hands  and  held  them. 

"You  aren't  fooling  me?"  she  said.  "You  aren't  engi- 
neering some  kind  of  unexpected  honeymoon  for  me  and 
Jack?  It's  no  good,  Mug.  I  saw  him  to-day,  and  I  felt 
that  I  simply  couldn't  do  otherwise  than  I  have  already  de- 
cided. Promise  me  that  you  aren't  up  to  anything." 

Monica  got  up  from  the  bed  suddenly  and  walked  to  the 
window.  The  stars  outside  looked  very  distant  and  cold, 
even  though  the  night  was  warm.  Below,  in  the  garden, 
she  saw  the  red  glow  of  Lorrimer's  cigar,  and  heard  the 
crunch  of  the  gravel  under  his  pacing  feet.  His  words  came 
back  to  her,  "God!  what  a  relief  it  would  be,"  and  she 
thought  of  Cathy,  who  was  lying  against  her  pillows,  Cathy 
who  intended  to  wreck  all  Lorrimer's  great  future. 

"I  am  not  thinking  of  anything  of  the  kind,"  she  said. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  205 

"I  wish,  indeed,  that  it  were  possible,  Cath.  If  it  were,  I 
would  work  heaven  and  earth  to  bring  it  about." 

"I  must  get  right  away,"  Cathy  said;  "I  am  hungry  for 
liberty  and  my  own  people.  I  suppose  that  somewhere,  deep 
down  and  often  forgotten,  one  loves  one's  own  best.  Jack 
and  I  are  strangers,  but  it  took  time  to  realise  it." 

"Don't  begin  to  think  of  it  now,"  Monica  said  in  a  voice 
of  warning.  "Oh,  Cathy,  you  never  realise  how  hard  you 
are  upon  others." 

Cathy  looked  at  Monica's  back,  for  she  did  not  turn. 

"Am  I?"  she  said  in  a  wondering  voice.  "I  suppose  I 
am.  But  it  was  an  accident  with  those  tabloids,  Mug.  That 
was  really  all." 

For  a  moment  Doctor  Henstock  seemed  as  though  she 
was  going  to  speak  passionately,  but  she  held  herself  in,  and 
she  did  not  again  approach  the  bed  where  Cathy  lay. 

"Whatever  happens  in  the  future,"  she  said,  "remember 
that  I  have  acted  for  the  best,  and  it  has  not  been  easy." 

She  walked  to  the  door  as  she  spoke,  and  though  Cathy 
called  to  her  she  did  not  turn,  but  went  out,  closing  it  be- 
hind her. 

Next  morning  Cathy  was  interviewed  by  Doctor  Luke, 
and  Monica  did  not  make  her  usual  early  visit  to  her  rx)m. 
Doctor  Luke  appeared  to  be  more  than  usually  nerve-ridden 
and  shaky,  and  he  did  very  little  more  than  ask  Cathy  for 
her  ethical  views  on  the  question  of  suicide.  Cathy,  in  wild 
spirits  and  with  a  touch  of  mischief  in  her  heart,  told  him 
that  it  depended  upon  whether  your  spiritual  faith  was 
greater  than  your  desire  to  go  on  with  life,  once  it  had 
become  unendurable. 

"Like  everything  else,"  she  said,  leaning  back  against  the 
big  cushions  of  her  sofa,  "it  is  a  question  of  motive.  I  don't 
believe,  Doctor  Luke,  that  anything  really  matters  except 
that.  Do  you  remember  the  case  of  the  'very  gallant  gentle- 
man' who  went  out  into  the  endless  wastes  of  snow  so  that 
he  might  not  be  a  burden  upon  his  friends?  It  was  surely 
a  noble  death." 


206  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Doctor  Luke  blew  his  nose  and  shuffled  his  feet  on  the 
floor. 

"Suicide  is  always  a  most  serious  crime,"  he  said;  "you 
can't  get  away  from  that." 

"I  don't  want  to,"  Cathy  objected.  "I  am  only  saying, 
since  you  asked  me,  that  I  firmly  believe  there  are  times 
when  it  can  be  as  fine  an  act  as  martyrdom." 

She  could  not  think  why  the  wretched  little  creature 
harped  so  persistently  on  the  subject,  and  she  was  relieved 
when  at  length  he  rose  and  said  "good-bye"  to  her.  She 
never  wanted  to  see  him  again. 

At  last  Monica  came,  and  Cathy,  with  her  eyes  full  of 
gladness,  called  to  her  through  the  door. 

"It  is  a  glorious  day,"  she  said,  "and  even  if  it  is  wicked 
and  cruel  of  me,  Mug,  I  am  happy  again,  in  bits.  Where  is 
Jack?" 

"Jack  went  away  after  breakfast,"  Monica  said,  no  light 
in  her  own  eyes.  "You  can  get  up  now,  Cathy,  and  I've  told 
Nurse  Binns  to  pack  your  clothes." 

"She  isn't  coming  on  our  joy-ride?  Oh,  no,  Muggins,  I 
should  hate  it  if  she  were." 

"She  is  not  coming,"  Monica  replied. 

"Doctor  Luke  is  meditating  suicide,"  Cathy  said  as  sne 
came  from  her  room,  dressed,  a  little  later.  "He  talked  of 
nothing  else.  I  should  imagine  that  the  best  place  for  him  is 
a  lunatic  asylum." 

Monica  was  bending  over  a  box,  and  she  said  nothing. 

"I  was  remembering  some  lines  out  of  a  book  I  used  to 
love,"  Cathy  went  out,  "and  they  thrilled  me  when  I  woke. 
I  don't  remember  the  connection,  but  they  are  gorgeous 
lines : 

"John  York,  John  York,  -where  art  thou  gone,  John  York? 
King  of.  my  heart,  King  of  my  heart,  I  am  out  on  the  trail  of  thy 
bugles." 

She  stood  at  the  wide  window  with  its  stone  balcony  full 
of  flowers  and  held  out  her  arms  to  the  world.  "I  am  like 
the  Prodigal,  I  was  dead  and  am  alive  again,  though  I 


CATHY  ROSSITER  207 

wasn't  lost,  and  so  haven't  to  be  found.  But  oh,  it's  a  won- 
derful thing  to  be  happy,  and  until  you  have  been  a  prisoner 
you  never  know  the  wild  joy  of  getting  free  again."  She 
turned  back  to  the  room.  "Freedom  is  worth  more  than 
anything  else,  and  it's  no  wonder  that  men  die  to  get  it. 
Where  are  we  going  first  ?  Did  you  ring  up  Aunt  Amy,  and 
what  did  the  old  darling  say?" 

"I  thought  we  would  go  to  High  Matcham,"  Monica  said, 
avoiding  the  second  question.  "There  is  a  very  fine  old 
place  not  far  from  the  village,"  she  watched  Cathy  to  see 
if  the  name  conveyed  anything  to  her,  "a  place  called  Well- 
don  Grange." 

"I  don't  like  granges,"  Cathy  laughed,  "they  sound  eerie 
and  suggest  rats  and  vipers,  but  I'll  go  anywhere  you  like, 
Mug,  you've  been  so  good  to  me — so  good  to  me,  Mug, 
dear." 

"The  car  is  ready,  I  expect,"  Monica  said,  looking  at  her 
watch,  and  then  the  doors  were  opened  and  the  confusion  of 
departure  made  its  way  over  the  threshold. 

"One  should  always  turn  round  three  times  before  leaving 
a  house,  so  my  old  nurse  told  me,"  Cathy  said  as  she  stood 
in  the  hall,  and  she  whirled  round  rapidly.  "I  am  in  a 
foolish  mood.  Don't  look  so  cross,  Nurse  Binns,  you've 
got  me  off  your  hands  at  last." 

She  waved  her  good-bye  to  the  servants,  who  were  gath- 
ered in  curious,  suspicious  groups  in  the  hall  and  on  the 
steps,  and  as  she  leant  back  in  the  car,  Cathy's  blue  eyes 
saluted  the  fair  summer  sky. 

They  swept  round  by  the  lake  and  out  of  sight  of  the 
upper  windows  last  of  all,  and  on  through  the  gates,  and 
Cathy  squeezed  Monica's  arm.  Mug  was  dreadfully  down 
on  her  luck  and  wanted  cheering.  Poor  Mug  had  borne  all 
the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day,  and  had  said  a  hundred 
times  that  at  some  remote  age,  such  as  fifty,  Cathy  would 
live  to  regret  her  defiance  of  medical  discipline.  But  who 
cares  what  will  happen  at  fifty?  Certainly  Cathy  did  not 
care  a  rap.  She  was  happier  than  she  had  been  for  ages, 
though  her  whole  married  life  seemed  now  to  have  con- 


208  CATHY  ROSSITER 

traded  and  become  just  those  wretched  weeks  and  weeks 
of  bondage  in  two  rooms. 

"John  York,  John  York,  where  art  thou  gone,  John  York?" 
she  quoted  again,  with  the  wild,  inconsequent  reply: 

"King  of  my  heart.  King  of  my  heart,  I  am  out  on  the  trail  of  thy 
bugles." 

"How  far  is  it  to  your  nasty,  ratty  old  Grange?"  she 
asked.  "I  almost  wish  I  had  said  good-bye  to  Jack." 

"Not  a  long  run,"  Monica  replied;  "we  shall  get  there 
quite  soon  enough." 

And  then  she  relapsed  into  silence,  but  there  was  neither 
rest  nor  peace  in  her  reticence. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ROBERT  AMYAS  had  learned  a  great  deal  in  the  year  which 
followed  upon  Cathy  Rossiter's  marriage  with  Lorrimer. 
Every  one  seemed  to  like  Lorrimer  when  they  came  to  know 
him  better,  and  Lady  Catherine,  who  might  be  counted  upon 
as  a  "last  ditcher,"  had  become  warm  in  her  praises  of 
Cathy's  husband.  Robert  found  no  one  to  agree  with  him, 
and  yet  he  had  never  felt  himself  able  to  accept  the  general 
verdict  upon  a  man  whom  he  instinctively  mistrusted. 

Cathy  was  gone  from  among  them,  to  a  great  degree,  and 
Robert  realised  that  he  found  life  hopelessly  dull  and  fla- 
vourless without  her.  She  had  been  like  spring-time,  and  a 
year  devoid  of  the  season  of  springing  hopes  is  a  dull  year. 
One  went  on,  of  course,  because,  whatever  happens,  people 
must  go  on  somehow,  and  Robert  discovered  that  he  was 
able  to  put  up  some  kind  of  fight  against  his  own  specially 
besetting  sins.  He  was  working  quite  hard,  for  him,  and 
had  begun  to  write  up  forgotten  pages  of  history. 

Everyone  else  seemed  to  be  happy,  that  was  the  dis- 
couraging part  of  it.  Cathy  was  happy,  so  was  Lilian, 
though  he  did  not  ever  meet  her,  but  he  heard  things  that 
put  it  beyond  doubt.  Twyford  was  living  a  roving  life  and 
seldom  or  never  in  London.  Amyas  felt  himself  to  be  the 
odd  man  out ;  a  disconsolate  condition  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
two.  He  had  moved  from  his  old  quarters  and  taken  rooms 
in  Jermyn  Street,  and  at  times  he  called  on  Lady  Carstairs, 
regarding  his  visits  there  as  a  penitent  might  regard  an  iron 
bracelet  which  made  him  wince,  when  he  sat  and  smiled  and 
listened  to  her  praises  of  Lorrimer,  and  her  account  of  the 
golden  happiness  which  was  Cathy's.  To  hear  of  her  was 
his  main  motive  in  these  visits,  and  he  had  gone  very  fre- 
quently at  the  time  when  Cathy  was  ill.  The  vague  stories 
which  were  in  circulation  with  regard  to  Cathy  and  Barlow 

209 


210  CATHY  ROSSITER 

had  not  reached  him,  and  it  was  only  after  a  long  time  that 
rumour  made  its  way  into  his  club,  where  he  heard  a  fellow 
member  tell  a  friend  that  Mrs.  Lorrimer  had  been  "at  her 
old  games  again."  It  annoyed  him  acutely  to  hear  her 
spoken  of  in  such  terms,  but  he  listened  with  smooth  in- 
difference. 

"I  had  it  from  a  bounder  called  Hammersly,  who  is  very 
thick  with  Lorrimer.  He  said  that  there  had  been  a  down- 
right row  over  it.  Barlow — you  know  the  man — went  down 
to  Kingslade  and  hung  about  there." 

"And  what  happened  ?"  asked  the  man  to  whom  he  spoke. 
"These  days,  it's  usually  shooting;  so  it  takes  a  bit  of  nerve 
to  go  hanging  around  other  men's  wives.  No  jury  will  hang 
a  husband  now;  it's  against  their  principles." 

"Not  any  shooting,  as  far  as  I  know,"  the  club  gossip 
continued,  "but  there's  something  up."  He  turned,  and 
recognised  Amyas.  "You  know  the  Lorrimers,  Robert; 
what's  this  story  about?  Hammersly  said  very  little,  but  I 
suppose  you  know  the  facts?" 

"No  one  ever  knows  any  facts,"  Amyas  said,  with  a 
bored  smile ;  "they  are  the  things  which  people  invent.  There 
is  no  story,  and  no  scandal.  Hammersly,  or  whatever  his 
name  is,  was  having  you  on,  old  boy." 

"Having  me  on?  Not  he.  He  had  just  been  peace-mak- 
ing, so  he  said,  and  he  also  said  peace  was  a  damned  hard 
thing  to  make,  when  you  consider  how  easy  it  is  to  go  to 
war." 

The  conversation  stuck  in  Robert's  mind  and  he  could 
not  forget  it.  He  cursed  Barlow  steadily  and  carefully,  and 
decided  that  he  would  go  round  to  see  Aunt  Amy  and  find 
out  from  her  whether  she  had  any  suspicions  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

Lady  Carstairs  knew  nothing  of  any  scandals.  Amyas 
discovered  that  much  without  difficulty;  because  if  there 
had  been,  Aunt  Amy  would  immediately  have  begun  to  ex- 
plain it  away.  She  would  have  said,  "Cathy  is  again  inter- 
esting herself  in  politics,  and  those  Socialist  people  are 
doing  their  best  to  get  hold  of  her."  She  would  have  told 
Robert  Amyas  that  Lorrimer  had  "very  properly"  objected 


CATHY  ROSSITER  211 

to  their  manoeuvres,  and  she  would  have  alluded  to  Bar- 
low as  "that  unfortunate  and  misguided  young  man,  whose 
father  was  one  of  my  oldest  friends."  Lady  Carstairs  fre- 
quently reminded  Amyas  of  a  bee  that  repaired  breaks  and 
cracks  in  the  comb  with  busy  diligence.  She  seemed  quite 
satisfied  about  everything,  but  was  feeling  her  own  banish- 
ment from  Cathy  more  than  she  chose  to  admit. 

"When  she  is  better  I  want  to  take  her  away,"  she  said, 
her  kind,  weary  eyes  looking  pale  and  washed  out.  "I  want 
to  go  abroad  for  a  little,  Robert,  and  I  felt  that  if  only 
Cathy  would  come  with  me  it  would  be  indeed  a  pleasant 
change." 

"Why  can't  Cathy  see  her  friends?"  he  asked.  "She 
might  be  in  Siberia." 

"Monica  Henstock  is  in  charge  of  her.  I  don't  really  feel 
any  confidence  in  women  doctors,  but  I  suppose  she  is  quite 
reliable." 

"I  suppose  so,"  Amyas  agreed,  "but  it  must  be  rather 
hard  on  Cathy." 

He  left  Lady  Carstairs  with  a  dull  feeling  of  dissatisfac- 
tion. If  anything  was  "up"  it  would  be  kept  from  her,  and 
yet  Cathy  might  want  her  friends.  To  allow  Cathy  to  get 
mixed  up  in  some  wayward  and  futile  affair  with  George 
Barlow  was  so  like  what  Amyas  expected  Lorrimer  to  do. 
Heavy,  stupid,  and  without  comprehension,  the  man  was  a 
positive  danger  to  his  wife. 

He  wandered  into  the  park  and  sat  down  under  the 
shadow  of  a  tree.  Had  Lorrimer  really  caged  that  wild 
bird  ?  Perhaps  at  that  very  moment  she  was  beating  against 
the  gilded  wires,  aching  for  her  old  wild  freedom.  He 
watched  the  riders  going  by,  and  saw  Twyf ord  coming  along 
at  a  walk,  mounted  on  a  powerful  bay.  Twyford  looked 
bored  and  gloomy,  and,  though  they  had  never  been  friends, 
Amyas  got  up  and  leaned  on  the  rails,  hailing  him  with  up- 
lifted stick. 

Twyford  pulled  up  and  did  not  appear  astonished;  he 
never  evinced  surprise. 

"I've  been  to  see  Lady  Carstairs,"  Amyas  said,  the  light 
catching  his  hazel  eyes.  "I  went  there  to  find  out  whether 


212  CATHY  ROSSITER 

she  had  any  news  of  Cathy  Rossiter,"  he  had  always  re- 
fused to  use  her  new  name.  "Now  I  want  to  know  whether 
you  have  heard  from  her?" 

Twyford  shook  his  head.    "No,"  he  said,  "I  never  hear." 

"Can't  you  go  and  see  her  ?"  Robert  remarked  carelessly. 
"1  would,  only,  for  some  reason,  Lorrimer  objects  to  me, 
and  it  is  not  possible.  I  ask,  because  there  are  stories  about, 
and  she  may  want  her  friends." 

"She  is  quite  happy,"  Twyford  said,  his  strong,  dark  face 
with  his  square  chin  set  and  combative.  "If  you  know  any- 
thing to  the  contrary,  it  is  a  surprise  to  me." 

"You  believe  in  letting  things  alone?"  Amyas  shrugged 
his  shoulders;  "I  expect  you're  right." 

"I  don't  see  that  either  you  or  I  can  do  anything" ;  Twy- 
ford tightened  the  reins,  and  Amyas  nodded  as  he  cantered 
off. 

"No  thoroughfare"  in  that  direction  either.  Amyas 
lighted  a  cigarette  and  sat  down  again. 

Barlow  was  butting  in,  and  Barlow  had  a  dirty  reputa- 
tion. He  was  successful  with  women,  no  doubt  about  it, 
and  here  were  a  crowd  of  people — a  crowd  of  two,  anyhow, 
himself  and  Twyford — who  were  bound  upon  the  wheel  of 
good  form  and  unable  to  act.  Meanwhile,  what  was  going 
on  at  Kingslade? 

Amyas  reviewed  the  situation  with  unwonted  simplicity 
and  direction  of  thought.  He  had  fallen  slowly  in  love  with 
Cathy,  and  gradually  the  power  she  exercised  over  him  had 
become  omnipotent.  For  her  sake  he  had  fought  himself, 
and  had  conquered  the  slow,  crawling  monopoly  of  the  drug 
habit.  Formerly  he  had  dallied  with  fastidious  vices,  and 
Lilian's  influence  had  never  acted,  except  as  a  spur  to  make 
him  continue  to  do  so  with  steady  deliberation.  Cathy,  who 
had  nothing  to  say  to  him  except  in  the  way  of  friendship, 
had  exorcised  devils,  and  he  had  painfully  set  his  house  in 
order.  He  made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  he  loved  her, 
and  if  she  were  really  happy  with  Lorrimer  it  was  left  for 
him  to  make  that  the  basis  for  his  own  poor  content.  If 
she  were  not  happy,  the  situation  assumed  other  features, 
and  he  was  prepared  to  do  anything  to  be  of  use  to  her. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  213 

In  a  way,  the  situation  was  ridiculous.  If  he  chose  to 
take  a  taxi,  he  could  get  down  to  Kingslade  and  Lorrimer 
would  hardly  be  able  to  order  him  out  of  the  house.  He 
would  not  need  to  copy  the  example  of  Barlow,  for  in- 
stance, and  he  wondered  why  so  simple  a  solution  had  not 
presented  itself  to  him  at  once. 

Having  made  up  his  mind,  he  walked  out  under  the 
arched  gateway  into  Piccadilly  and  hailed  a  passing  taxi. 
The  hour  was  still  early,  and,  if  Cathy  was  well  enough  to 
see  him,  he  could  spend  some  time  at  Kingslade. 

He  looked  around  him  with  interest  as  he  passed  through 
the  village,  and  he  admired  the  high  gates  and  the  wrapt 
seclusion  of  the  park.  The  lake  reflected  the  clear  sky,  and 
the  garden  was  a  blaze  of  colour  and  scent.  As  the  taxi 
turned  up  the  sweep  of  the  drive,  he  admitted  that  Lorrimer 
had  certainly  achieved  the  right  setting  for  his  wife,  and 
the  dignity  of  the  old  house  threw  its  spell  upon  him. 

The  front  door  was  closed,  and  Robert  instructed  the 
taxi-driver  to  wait,  as  he  rang  the  bell.  So  this  was  where 
Cathy  lived,  and  perhaps  the  room  with  the  closed  windows, 
facing  south  and  looking  out  over  a  garden  of  flowering 
plants,  was  hers. 

The  man  who  opened  the  door  in  response  to  the  second 
ringing  of  the  bell,  looked  startled,  and  his  manner  was  on 
the  defensive.  He  told  Amyas  that  he  could  not  see  Mrs. 
Lorrimer,  and  Robert  stood  looking  into  the  wide  hall 
behind  him  wondering  what  his  next  move  should  be.  He 
decided,  at  once,  to  ask  no  questions.  The  manservant 
would  certainly  lie  to  him,  even  if  he  knew  more  than  he 
admitted,  and  Amyas  asked  politely  whether  Colonel  Lorri- 
mer was  at  home.  He  thought  that  the  man  looked  slightly 
more  at  his  ease,  and  he  was  informed  that  Colonel  Lorri- 
mer had  gone  away  that  morning,  and  would  not  be  back 
for  some  days. 

"I  am  singularly  unfortunate,"  Amyas  said,  in  his  bored, 
sophisticated  voice.  "I  wonder  if  I  could  have  some  tea 
before  I  go  back?" 

With  the  air  of  an  irate  Prime  Minister  who  finds  him- 


214  CATHY  ROSSITER 

self  in  a  corner,  the  manservant  admitted  Amyas,  and 
showed  him  into  the  large  drawing-room.  It  was  a  dead 
room,  so  Robert  felt,  and  had  not  been  really  lived  in  for 
some  considerable  time.  You  might  search  in  vain  for 
traces  of  Cathy  here.  He  sat  down  by  the  window  and 
waited,  taking  the  very  chair  where  Monica  had  sat  the 
previous  day,  and  he  looked  out  over  the  sunlit  lawn,  won- 
dering at  himself  a  little.  Lorrimer  was  away,  that  was 
one  blessing,  and  perhaps  the  fates  would  be  kind.  He 
opened  the  window  and  stood  outside.  Above  him  ran 
the  stone  balcony  which  made  a  terrace  outside  the  upper 
windows,  and  he  began  to  whistle  softly.  Underneath  the 
deep  shade  of  the  balcony  there  were  a  few  chairs  set  at 
intervals,  and  the  morning's  paper  lay  on  the  tesselated  floor. 
Amyas  picked  it  up  and  walked  into  the  sunlight.  He  looked 
upwards  at  the  house  again,  and  he  saw  the  windows  of  the 
room  above  thrown  open.  A  maid  with  a  white  cap  ap- 
peared, and  tied  the  curtains  upon  the  inner  side  into  loops, 
and  shook  a  duster  over  the  balustrade.  Amyas  hailed  her, 
on  a  sudden  impulse. 

"How  is  Mrs.  Lorrimer  to-day?"  he  asked,  and  the  girl 
stood  and  looked  down  at  him. 

"Better,"  she  said,  speaking  down  to  him;  "she  left  here 
this  morning." 

Amyas  nodded,  and  the  sound  of  the  tinkle  of  china  in- 
formed him  that  his  grudging  tea  was  being  prepared  within. 
He  walked  back  into  the  drawing-room  and  sat  down  again, 
and  a  minute  later  the  hostile  manservant  reappeared  carry- 
ing a  heavy  silver  tray.  Cathy  was  gone.  Yet  Lady  Car- 
stairs  certainly  knew  nothing  of  any  projected  move,  and 
the  man  who  had  answered  the  door  had  not  admitted  that 
his  mistress  had  left  the  house. 

Amyas  poured  himself  out  a  cup  of  tea.  A  happy  woman 
never  wants  intruding  friends.  Friendship  is  the  need  of 
those  who  are  at  odds  with  life,  and  probably  the  Barlow 
episode  had  ended  in  reconciliation,  stronger  than  ever,  as 
he  thought  of  the  careful  method  by  which  Lorrimer  would 
act.  He  was  good  at  that  kind  of  thing,  and  he  played  his 
cards,  not  like  a  gambler,  but  like  a  sharper.  He  finished 


CATHY  ROSSITER  215 

his  tea,  eating  nothing,  out  of  some  personal  feeling  toward 
breaking  the  bread  of  a  foe,  and  began  to  think  of  the  home- 
ward journey.  There  was  certainly  nothing  to  detain  him, 
any  longer  at  Kingslade. 

He  looked  out  of  the  drawing-room  window  again,  and 
closed  it,  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  saw  two  men  crossing  the 
grass  in  earnest  conversation.  One  was  a  man  with  a  heavy, 
clever  face  and  dark  eyes,  and  the  other  a  poor,  seedy- 
looking  individual  in  shabby  clothing ;  Amyas  watched  them. 
from  behind  the  thin  lace  of  the  blind.  Probably  the 
wealthy-looking  bounder  was  a  constituent,  but  who  the 
other  might  be  he  could  not  guess.  The  dark,  heavy-fea- 
tured man  was  thoroughly  at  home  in  the  place,  and  pointed 
to  the  seats  along  the  verandah. 

They  came  nearer,  and  up  the  steps,  and  Amyas  drew 
back  a  little.  Their  evident  intention  was  to  sit  just  outside 
his  window,  and  he  had  no  desire  to  overhear  their  con- 
versation. He  heard  the  squeal  of  the  chairs  being  pulled 
over  the  flags,  and  a  momentary  silence  between  the  two 
was  broken  by  the  deep  tones  of  the  well-dressed,  offensive- 
looking  man. 

"It  is  too  late,  Luke.  You  can't  go  back  now.  In  any 
case,  Mrs.  Lorrimer  is  gone,"  he  said,  and  Amyas  stood 
rigid. 

He  had  no  earthly  right  to  listen  to  what  was  evidently  a 
private  conversation,  and,  against  that,  his  sense  of  dismay 
that  anyone  who  looked  like  the  creature  who  was  addressed 
as  "Luke,"  could  be  even  remotely  interested  in  Cathy,  made 
him  eager  to  hear  more. 

"It's  on  my  mind,  Hammersly,  it's  on  my  mind." 

"Well,  spit  it  off  your  chest  then,"  Hammersly  replied 
with  a  coarse  laugh.  "You  weren't  so  damned  particular 
in  other  cases — cases,  mind  you,  which  are  a  great  deal  more 
serious  in  the  eyes  of  the  law." 

"I  came  back  to  see  that  woman  doctor,"  the  other  voice 
went  on.  "I  felt  such  pity  for  the  poor  lady.  I  don't  want 
to  have  any  hand  in  it.  If  it  is  the  case,  another  doctor 
would  do  as  well.  There's  Townley,  in  his  big  house " 

"Townley  has  a  wife  with  a  tongue,  and  the  whole  object 


216  CATHY  ROSSITER 

of  getting  you  was  to  keep  things  quiet."  Hammer  sly  spoke 
impatiently.  "If  you  talk,  you  know  what  you  will  get." 

"I  was  rushed  into  it,"  Luke's  tones  quavered  and  broke. 
"Is  it  true  that  I  am  too  late  ?" 

"God's  truth."  Amyas  heard  Hammersly  move,  as 
though  to  end  the  interview.  "She  is  there  by  this,  and 
you  can  do  nothing.  You  acted  on  conviction  and  evi- 
dence," he  spoke  in  a  heavy,  impressive  voice  "you  were 
paid  for  your  job,  and " 

"I'd  like  to  see  Colonel  Lorrimer." 

"Well,  you  can't.  He  has  gone  to  London,  and  Kings- 
lade  is  to  be  closed " 

Amyas  turned  quickly,  he  had  heard  footsteps  outside  the 
door,  and  he  walked  to  meet  them.  The  broken  conversa- 
tion had  filled  him  with  a  wild  desire  to  act,  and  yet  he  was 
as  hopelessly  mystified  as  a  man  well  could  be.  He  reached 
the  drawing-room  door  just  as  it  was  opened  by  the  man- 
servant, and  passed  out  into  the  hall,  picking  up  his  soft 
grey  hat  and  stick. 

"I  think  I  will  take  a  turn  round  the  garden  before  I 
leave,"  he  remarked,  as  he  proffered  a  tip  to  the  gloomy- 
looking  servant.  "You  have  splendid  roses  here  ?" 

"So  I  am  informed,  sir,"  the  man  admitted  with  reluc- 
tance, and  Amyas  walked  down  the  steps. 

"I  shall  not  be  much  longer  now,"  he  said  to  the  driver 
of  the  taxi,  who  was  employing  his  time  reading  the  paper. 

Hammersly  and  his  strange  companion  had  come  to  the 
house  by  the  back,  so  they  were  likely  to  be  still  unaware 
of  any  intruder,  and  Amyas  followed  a  gravel  path  which 
led  him  round  to  the  south  side  of  the  house,  overlooking 
the  gardens  and  the  turn  of  the  drive.  As  he  walked  along 
the  gravel,  his  footsteps  sounding  loud  and  giving  due  warn- 
ing of  his  approach,  he  saw  Hammersly  and  Luke  move 
beyond  the  line  of  shadow;  they  had  moved  away,  then, 
before  the  coming  of  the  manservant  had  disturbed  their 
conference.  Hammersly  looked  round,  and  rapidly  con- 
cluded whatever  parting  words  he  had  to  say;  nodding  to 
Luke,  he  came  at  once  towards  Amyas  with  a  genial  smile. 

"Can  I  be  of  any  service  to  you?"  he  asked  amiably. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  217 

"Colonel  and  Mrs.  Lorrimer  are  both  away,  and,  as  I  am 
rather  a  persona  grata  here,  I  am  sure  I  may  offer  you  a 
drink." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  Amyas  said,  "but  I  shall  not  trouble 
you.  I  have  had  some  tea.  A  wholly  reluctant  footman, 
who  suspected  me  of  designs  on  the  spoons,  provided  me 
with  all  I  wanted.  I  ought  to  have  'phoned  to  say  I  was 
coming,  but  it  didn't  occur  to  me  at  the  time." 

"It's  a  nice  run  from  Town,"  Hammersly  said  affably, 
"and  a  charming  place." 

"Is  Lorrimer  away  for  long?"  Amyas  asked,  looking 
over  the  sweeping  view  with  half-closed  eyes.  "I  thought 
they  were  here  for  the  summer.  Doctor  Henstock  said 
something  of  the  kind." 

"Ah,  you  know  Doctor  Henstock?  A  clever,  able 
woman." 

"I've  known  her  for  years,"  Robert  said,  smiling  sleepily ; 
"she  has  all  the  virtues.  Is  she  also  away  ?  But  I  suppose 
she  is?" 

"They  made  some  plan  in  a  hurry,"  Hammersly  said,  of- 
fering his  cigar  case  to  Amyas,  who  shook  his  head.  "You 
won't  smoke?  No?  Seriously,  Mrs.  Lorrimer  has  given 
them  all  a  lot  of  uneasiness  lately,  and  Doctor  Henstock 
felt  that  the  only  thing  for  her  was  a  change."  They  began 
to  pace  the  rose-bordered  path  together.  "What  they  finally 
determined  to  do  I  can't  tell  you.  I  only  know  that,  when 
I  was  dining  here  last  night,  the  idea  then  was  to  take  a 
motor  trip — less  fatiguing  than  anything  else." 

"And  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  no  better?" 

"No  better,"  Hammersly  echoed.    "Poor  lady." 

"No  doubt  Lady  Carstairs  will  hear  from  her,"  Amyas 
said,  swallowing  his  desire  to  be  rude  to  the  man  at  his 
side. 

"No  doubt,"  Hammersly  agreed  cordially.  "Are  you 
sure  you  won't  come  in  and  have  a  drink  ?  Or  perhaps  you 
would  come  to  my  own  house?" 

"I  have  to  get  back,  or  I  should  be  delighted." 

Hammersly  had  walked  him  round  the  house,  and  they 


2i 8  CATHY  ROSSITER 

now  stood  in  the  bay  of  the  avenue,  and  Robert  signed  to 
his  taxi-driver.  "I  think  I'll  be  getting  along,"  he  said,  and 
Hammersly,  with  the  air  of  a  host  on  his  own  doorstep,  sped 
the  parting  guest. 

As  he  watched  the  taxi  depart,  he  pondered  for  a  moment. 

"What  in  hell  did  that  over-dressed  ass  want,  poking 
about  down  here?"  he  thought,  and  then  he  went  into  the 
house. 

Amyas  had  sufficient  food  for  reflection  as  he  drove 
through  the  purple  shadows.  Kingslade  looked  like  the  very 
heart  of  peace  and  quietude,  and  the  park  lay  behind  him 
deep  in  the  glory  of  the  low  evening  light.  Hammersly 
behaved  as  though  the  place  belonged  to  him.  The  idea 
was  preposterous.  A  drunken  publican  would  be  more  in 
the  picture  than  this  scented,  affluent,  glib  city  man,  who 
talked  familiarly  of  "the  poor,  dear  lady."  Amyas  moved 
uncomfortably  on  the  hard  cushions  of  his  hired  convey- 
ance. Bad  as  Hammersly  was,  Luke  was  even  worse,  but 
Luke  had  come  there  to  undo  some  act  of  which  he  had  re- 
pented himself. 

"Any  other  doctor  would  have  done  as  well."  "It's  on  my 
mind,  Hammersly,  it's  on  my  mind."  What  was  on  his 
mind? 

Robert  Amyas  tried  to  comfort  his  vague  fears.  He 
knew  Monica  Henstock,  and  that  was  sufficient  guarantee 
that  Cathy  was  duly  safeguarded  and  cared  for.  Monica's 
integrity  couldn't  be  questioned.  Amyas  did  not  care  for 
Monica,  but  he  fully  appreciated  her  steady  value.  Monica 
had  been  at  Kingslade  all  along,  and  now,  if  Cathy  had 
left  the  place,  was  she  still  with  her? 

The  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  convinced  Amyas 
became  that  Cathy  and  Lorrimer  had  not  made  up  the 
quarrel;  he  was  completely  dissatisfied.  Luke  had  spoken 
as  a  man  speaks  when  he  is  driven  and  desperate,  and  he 
had  not  the  look  of  a  sensitive  person  who  is  temperament- 
ally subject  to  fits  of  remorse;  and  the  point  of  Hammer- 
sly 's  gibe  had  been  plain  enough.  How  was  it  that  Lorri- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  219 

mer  had  allowed  such  a  creature  to  be  called  into  his  house, 
and  why  had  Monica  Henstock  agreed  to  consult  with  him  ? 
He  was  a  drink-sodden  remnant  from  the  world's  refuse 
heap,  and  what  had  he  to  do  with  Cathy  Rossiter? 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ROBERT  sat  for  a  time  smoking  when  he  got  back  to  his 
own  rooms,  his  eyes  on  the  tall  candles  set  in  a  heavy  silver 
candlestick,  and  after  a  time  he  decided  what  he  would  do. 
Getting  up,  he  walked  to  the  telephone  on  his  writing-table 
and,  ringing  up  the  exchange,  he  waited,  a  faint  smile  on 
his  face.  He  had  not  spoken  to  Lilian  since  she  left  him, 
and  it  seemed  odd  to  turn  to  her  just  then. 

Presently  he  began  to  speak.  "Hullo,  are  you  2659  May- 
fair?"  and  Lilian's  voice  replied  from  the  distance.  "Hullo 
— It's  you,  Lilian,  is  it?"  He  could  hear  the  faint  gasp  of 
surprise — "Robert  speaking.  Have  you  seen  anything  of 
your  friend,  Doctor  Henstock,  lately?"  Still  obviously 
astonished,  Lilian's  clear  voice  informed  him  that  Monica 
was  at  Kingslade  with  Cathy  Rossiter.  "Could  you  see 
her?"  Amyas  said,  "I  want  to  know  something  which  she 
can  tell  me." 

"Is  it  urgent?  Shall  I  ring  her  up  now?  I  have  the 
number." 

"She  isn't  there.  It's  rather  difficult  to  explain  like  this, 
but  I  am  anxious  to  see  her,  or  for  you  to  see  her." 

Lilian  made  no  reply  for  a  minute,  and  then  she  seemed 
to  have  made  up  her  mind. 

"Are  you  worried,  Robert?    You  sound  unlike  yourself." 

"I  want  to  know  something,"  he  reiterated. 

"How  would  it  be  if  you — if  I  came  and  saw  you?  I'm 
pretty  sure  you  wouldn't  have  rung  me  up  for  nothing." 

"I  am  glad  you  suggested  it,"  he  said;  "I  believe  if  we 
talk  it  over  together  it  will  be  best." 

Amyas  hung  up  the  receiver,  and  walked  away  from  his 
writing-table.  It  was  strange  to  think  of  meeting  Lilian 
again,  and  yet  it  was  highly  characteristic  of  her  to  suggest 
it.  Lilian  was  a  good  sportsman;  and  had  a  definite  and 
defiant  good  will  towards  men.  Once  the  hopeless  situa- 

220 


CATHY  ROSSITER  221 

tion  between  them  had  been  cleared  up,  it  was  possible — 
certainly  it  was  possible  for  them  to  be  friends.  Robert 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  happiest  of  mortals 
has  not  many  friends,  even  though  men  live  by  friendship. 
Lilian  was  soundly  poised  on  her  own  convictions.  Had 
she  been  selfish?  Well,  if  she  had,  he  had  also  shown  the 
same  fault;  and  Lilian  had  at  least  found  happiness.  Life 
had  intensified  for  both  of  them,  and  now  he  turned  to 
her  with  the  tribute  of  trust. 

He  waited  for  her  with  a  quickened  beating  of  his  heart, 
and  when  she  came  into  the  room  they  shook  hands  quite 
naturally.  It  was  creditable,  somehow,  and  they  both  knew 
it,  and  rose  to  the  slightly  dramatic  sense  of  the  meeting. 

"You  will  sit  down,"  Amyas  said,  "and  will  you  smoke, 
Lilian  ?  It  helps  people  to  talk  things  through." 

"We  aren't  going  to  talk  of  ourselves  ?"  she  asked.  "But 
I  would  like  to  think  that  you  are.  not  unhappy,  Robert." 

"I  am  not  a  subject  for  tears,"  he  said  in  his  light  way. 
He  sat  down  and  drummed  his  long  fingers  on  the  table.  "I 
am  becoming  melodramatic,"  he  said,  as  she  watched  him 
with  her  clear,  keen  eyes,  deep-set  and  clever. 

She  was  beautifully  dressed,  and  the  cloak  of  Venetian 
embroidery  and  fur  which  had  wrapped  her,  lay  in  heavy 
folds  round  her  as  she  sat  in  a  low  chair. 

"Melodramatic?  You?"  she  asked  with  a  laugh.  "It 
sounds  rather  unexpected." 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  change  of  feeling,  "have 
you  been  true  to  your  friends?  Where  are  your  friends, 
and  what  are  they  doing?" 

"I  haven't  seen  much  of  Cathy  since  her  marriage." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  hardly  know  why.  I  suppose  we  both  had  other  in- 
terests." 

Lilian  was  evidently  facing  his  question  truthfully  in  the 
secret  places  of  her  own  thought. 

"And  Monica  Henstock?  What  of  her?  She  used  to 
be  with  you  very  often." 

"I  don't  like  Monica  as  much  as  I  did,"  Lilian  made  the 
admission  quite  frankly.  "She  disappoints  me." 


222  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Amyas  broke  away  from  generalities.  "Could  you  get  in 
touch  with  her  again?  I  must  tell  you  what  happened  to- 
day, and  why  I  ask  you  all  this." 

He  began  his  story  again,  and  Lilian  listened  attentively. 
When  he  had  finished,  she  waited  some  time  before  she 
spoke. 

"It  is  absolutely  inexplicable  as  it  stands,"  she  said,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  and  looking  at  Amyas  steadily.  "Cathy  is 
'there,'  wherever  that  may  be,  now,  and  I  take  it  Monica 
is  with  her.  If  she  is,  it  gives  one  a  sense  of  safety;  that 
and  the  fact  that  Lorrimer,  even  though  it  was  a  most  un- 
likely kind  of  marriage,  adores  her.  I  have  never  once 
doubted  that  he  did." 

"And  I  have  never  believed  in  him,"  Amyas  said  slowly. 

"What  we  must  do  is  to  find  out  where  Cathy  is,  and  I 
will  go  to  her,"  Lilian  said  eagerly.  "She  can't  be  far  away. 
Suppose,  for  instance,  that  her  nerves  were  upset  or  that 
she  wanted  different  treatment,  she  may  be  in  London." 
She  looked  up  at  the  clock.  "It  isn't  ten  yet,  and  possibly 
Monica  may  have  left  her  somewhere,  if  my  idea  is  right, 
and  be  back  at  her  own  house  again."  She  got  up  and 
walked  to  the  writing-table.  "I'll  ring  her  up  now,  Robert, 
and  put  an  end  to  this  queer  feeling  of  mystery." 

Amyas  began  to  walk  slowly  round  the  room,  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  he  conquered  his  impatience  as  Lilian 
rang  up  Doctor  Henstock's  number. 

"It  seems  as  though  the  house  were  empty,"  she  said, 
over  her  shoulder,  "I  get  no  answer." 

"Try  again,"  he  said,  with  subdued  impatience,  and  after 
a  moment  he  heard  Lilian  speak  quickly. 

"Is  that  you,  Muggins  ?  I've  been  ringing  for  ages.  Oh, 
you  are  only  just  back.  Well,  I  want  to  see  you  soon." 

She  listened  for  a  little,  and,  covering  the  speaking-tube 
with  her  hand,  she  signed  to  Robert  to  come  to  her,  and 
talked  in  a  low  voice. 

"Monica  says  that  she  can  make  no  engagements.  Her 
voice  sounds  dreadfully  tired." 

"Don't  tell  her  too  much." 

"Trust  me,"  Lilian  nodded  at  him.    "Lunch  to-morrow? 


CATHY  ROSSITER  223 

Out  of  the  question.  But  why?  When  did  you  leave 
Cathy?"  Again  a  pause  cut  short  the  monologue.  "Then 
you  saw  her  to-day  ?  Dear  old  Cath ;  I'm  going  to  see  her 
if  I  have  to  bring  a  ladder.  Oh,  you've  given  up  the  case  ? 
Tell  me  more  about  it.  Is  she  at  Kingslade  ?  I  asked  you 
if  she  is  still  at  Kingslade?"  Again  she  covered  the  tube 
with  her  hands  and  whispered  to  Robert.  "Monica  says  that 
Cathy  has  been  sent  to  a  quiet  little  place  where  she  is  to 
be  kept  in  a  rest  cure  for  a  bit.  She  is  all  right,  really,  but 
it  was  decided  that  she  should  have  a  change." 

"Ask  for  the  address,"  Robert  said,  speaking  in  low 
tones. 

"Can't  I  have  Cathy's  address?"  Lilian  spoke  again. 
"But  why  not?  Surely  I  may  be  trusted."  She  frowned 
and  her  voice  grew  impatient.  "Colonel  Lorrimer  wants  no 
one  to  interfere  ?  My  dear  Mug,  is  it  likely  that  I  should  ? 
I  only  want  to  know  where  she  is.  Can't  you  tell  me  any- 
thing? No  one  is  to  know?  Nonsense,  you  don't  suppose 
that  Lady  Carstairs  will  be  satisfied  with  that,  or  any  of 

us?  Muggins,  Muggins "  She  turned  again — "Robert, 

she  has  rung  off." 

They  stared  at  each  other  blankly,  and  Robert  took  Lilian 
by  her  arm. 

"We  must  get  the  address,"  he  said,  and  he  looked  at  her 
searchingly.  "We  have  a  right  to  know  where  Cathy  is." 

"We  have  no  right,"  Lilian  said  distractedly,  "but  we 
shall  find  out.  I'll  see  Muggins  and  force  her  to  speak." 

But  even  as  she  spoke,  a  helpless  feeling  overtook  her. 
Monica  was  not  the  kind  of  woman  who  could  be  argued 
with,  once  her  own  mind  was  made  up. 

"What  have  they  done  with  her?"  Amyas  asked  again. 
"Let  us  try  and  get  the  thing  clear."  He  told  her  the  frag- 
mentary story  of  Barlow  which  he  had  heard  at  the  club, 
and  he  returned  again  to  his  own  instinctive  mistrust  of 
Lorrimer.  "The  one  thing  to  hold  on  by  was  that  Monica 
had  Cathy  in  her  charge,  and  now  that  is  ended  it  makes 
it  damnable." 

"I  think  we  are'  exaggerating,"  Lilian  said,  with  a  return 
to  the  common-sense  view  of  the  situation.  "Cathy  is  a 


224  CATHY  ROSSITER 

handful,  and  not  the  type  of  woman  it  is  easy  to  coerce.  If 
she  was  meeting  Barlow  against  Jack  Lorrimer's  wishes,  he 
would  never  be  able  to  stop  it.  She  will  give  them  all  the 
slip.  She  is  wonderfully  resourceful  and  no  rest  cure  can 
contain  her  long.  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  wait  until  we 
hear  from  her." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  can  do,"  Amyas  said,  as  Lilian  put 
on  her  wrap.  "You  can  go  to  Aunt  Amy  to-morrow,  and 
tell  her  that  she  must  see  Lorrimer.  You  need  say  nothing 
to  alarm  her,  and  only  tell  her  that  you  rang  up  Monica,  and 
heard  from  her  that  she  wasn't  looking  after  Cathy  any 
more.  Ask  Aunt  Amy  for  Cathy's  address,  and  if  she 
hasn't  got  it  make  her  feel  that  Lorrimer  must  tell  her." 

"I'll  do  that  early  to-morrow,"  Lilian  agreed,  "and  I'll 
let  you  know."  She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment.  "I  hope 
there's  nothing  to  worry  about,  Robert,  and  perhaps  there 
is  not." 

"Perhaps  not,"  he  agreed,  but  there  was  very  little  heart 
in  his  voice. 

The  next  morning,  Lilian  went  early  to  see  Lady  Car- 
stairs,  and  found  her  writing  letters  in  the  big  drawing- 
room.  She  had  by  this  time  nearly  forgotten  that  Lilian 
was  an  offender,  and  she  greeted  her  with  all  her  old  cor- 
diality. 

"My  dear  Lilian,  it  is  ages  since  I  saw  you.  I  seem  very 
remote  now,  and  the  house  is  quiet  since  all  the  young 
people  left." 

Lilian  gradually  brought  the  conversation  round  to  the 
subject  of  Cathy. 

"I  had  heard  nothing  of  Monica  for  so  long  that  I  rang 
her  up  last  night,"  she  said. 

"But,  dear  child,  Monica  is  at  Kingslade.  She  is  a  most 
efficient  doctor,  I  am  told.  I  hope  it  is  the  case;  Cathy's 
illness  has  lasted  very  much  longer  than  we  expected.  I 
have  never  been  able  to  believe  in  women  doctors,  but  when 
I  suggested  to  Jack  that  he  should  call  in  Sir  Roderick  Ray- 
mond, he  said  that  Monica  would  object.  I  saw  his  point, 
but  I  was  not  altogether  satisfied." 

"Monica  has  come  back  to  London,  and  has  given  up  the 


CATHY  ROSSITER  225 

case,"  Lilian  said  cheerfully.  "Now  is  your  chance,  Aunt 
Amy." 

"You  surprise  me."  Lady  Carstairs  looked  slightly 
alarmed.  "That  is  a  sudden  move,  and  I  was  not  consulted." 

"I  only  know  what  Monica  told  me.  She  said  that  'they' 
— whoever  'they'  are — had  felt  that  Cathy  wanted  different 
treatment,  and  so  she  is  now  having  a  rest  cure." 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  Lady  Carstairs  was  evi- 
dently affronted. 

"It  is  very  odd  that  Jack  told  me  nothing  of  it,"  she  said. 
"I  should  have  been  told.  Perhaps  he  is  coming  to  see  me 
himself." 

"Of  course  he  is,"  Lilian  agreed.  "Why  not  ask  him? 
He  must  be  dreadfully  worried  about  her,  and  that  has  put 
everything  else  out  of  his  mind.  It  was  a  very  happy 
marriage." 

"Wonderfully  so,"  said  Lady  Carstairs.  "I  was  against 
it,  as  you  know.  I  believe  in  marriages  which  include  more 
points  of  unity,  but  I  was  wrong,  and  Jack  is  admirable." 

She  fiddled  nervously  with  her  papers,  and  looked  at 
Lilian. 

"Of  course,  between  ourselves,  Lilian,  I  knew  that  Cathy 
needed  not  only  a  man  of  strong  character,  but  one  who 
would  understand  her  impulses.  The  loss  of  the  dear  little 
baby  was  a  dreadful  blow,  but  that  is  over  now,  and  I  felt 
that  all  would  be  well." 

"It  would  be  kind  to  send  for  Jack,"  Lilian  suggested, 
"and  we  all  of  us  want  to  know  where  Cathy  is." 

"Yes,"  Aunt  Amy  said,  "I  can't  bear  to  think  we  are  in 
ignorance.  Perhaps  if  I  wrote  a  line  to  Kingslade  he  might 
come  up  to-day.  Poor,  dear  Jack,  how  wretched  for  him." 

"Monica  said  he  was  in  London,"  Lilian  replied  hastily; 
"at  least  I  seem  to  remember  that  I  heard  her  say  so. 
Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  write  to  the  House — or  ring  him  up 
there?" 

"I  will  write,"  Lady  Carstairs  said,  with  a  return  to 
placidity.  "No  doubt  they  had  first-rate  advice.  I  must 
find  out  from  Jack  what  was  said.  A  rest  cure  is  often  a 
very  excellent  thing,  and  Mary  Gregson  frequently  speaks 


226  CATHY  ROSSITER 

of  her  own  weeks  in  Sir  Roderick's  Nursing  Home  as  a 
kind  of  heaven  on  earth." 

"Mary  Gregson's  whole  life  is  a  rest  cure.  She  isn't  like 
Cathy." 

"Yet  I  am  sure  it  must  be  a  relief  to  have  nothing  to  do." 
Lady  Carstairs  smiled.  "I  shall  see  Jack  about  it." 

Lilian  got  up,  and  stood  undecided  for  a  moment  or  two. 
"Will  you  let  me  know  what  you  hear?"  she  asked.  "I 
have  been  feeling  lately  that  we  have  all  seen  so  little  of 
Cathy.  I  dare  say  that  Jack  Lorrimer  is  a  paragon,  but 
he  has  robbed  Cathy's  friends  of  her  to  an  outrageous  ex- 
tent." 

Lady  Carstairs  did  not  agree,  but  she  did  not  say  much. 
A  married  woman  was,  in  her  eyes,  the  chattel  of  her  hus- 
band. Women  who  were  here,  there  and  everywhere,  were 
not  to  be  admired,  and  she  had  an  axiom  that  "East  or  West, 
Home  was  best."  Lilian  was  a  modern,  and  had  behaved 
with  the  terrible  disregard  of  the  modern  wife.  She  had 
not  regarded  a  husband  as  a  permanent  and  established  fact, 
and  perhaps  Robert  was  to  blame  in  some  degree.  You 
might  explain  the  case  by  taking  Amyas  into  consideration ; 
but  Lorrimer,  solid,  steady  and  changeless,  was  not  the 
man  to  permit  his  wife  any  ridiculous  liberty  of  action.  If 
Lorrimer  thought  that  Cathy  needed  a  rest  cure,  he  was 
sure  to  have  good  reason  for  being  convinced  of  its  neces- 
sity. He  should  have  told  Lady  Carstairs,  but  above  and 
before  all,  he  was  Cathy's  husband,  and  he  was  strictly 
within  his  rights. 

Lady  Carstairs  picked  up  her  pen,  and  wrote  in  her  well- 
formed  hand,  inviting  him  to  see  her.  She  used  tact,  and 
said  that  "a  mutual  friend"  had  heard  from  Monica  that 
she  was  no  longer  "taking  care  of  dear  Cathy."  Lady  Car- 
stairs  expressed  herself  as  anxious  to  know  who  now  was 
in  charge  of  her  niece,  and  she  signed  herself  "Yours  affec- 
tionately." 

When  Lorrimer  received  the  letter,  he  was  sitting  on  the 
terrace  of  the  House  of  Commons,  taking  a  solitary  tea. 
He  felt  hostile  towards  the  world,  and  Aunt  Amy's  letter  in 
no  way  lessened  his  hostility.  They  were  interfering  al- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  227 

ready,  these  people,  and  wanting  to  know  what  was  no  con- 
cern of  theirs.-  Hammersly  had  come  up  from  Kingslade 
that  morning,  and  warned  Lorrimer  that  he  must  think  out 
some  story  which  would  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  relatives 
and  gossips;  busy  people  where  other  folks'  affairs  were 
concerned.  Now,  Lady  Carstairs  had  it  from  "a  mutual 
friend"  that  Monica  was  back,  and  that  she  had  given  up 
the  case.  It  was  absolutely  maddening.  He  tore  the  letter 
up  and  flung  it  over  the  parapet,  but  it  did  not  absolve  him 
from  action.  He  would  have  to  go  and  see  the  old  tyrant. 
She  was  sugary  enough  now,  since  he  had  made  his  way  in 
the  world,  but  there  were  memories  which  sprang  to  life 
as  he  thought  of  her  and  prodded  him  into  a  recurrence  of 
his  old  antagonism  towards  her.  In  all  the  world  there  was 
only  one  person  he  really  trusted,  and  that  was  Monica 
Henstock.  He  had  not  dared  to  go  to  see  her,  because  of 
the  things  which  she  might  have  to  say.  What  of  that 
"joy-ride"  with  the  unsuspecting  Cathy?  How  had  it  ended? 
Had  Doctor  Chapman,  with  his  special  instinct  for  dealing 
with  the  insane,  been  able  to  make  her  accept  the  situation 
quietly?  All  these  things  he  would  have  to  learn  from 
Monica  before  they  could  put  the  hideous  subject  away 
and  forget  it  finally  and  for  ever.  He  hated  facing  un- 
pleasant truths,  and  even  though  he  needed  Monica  sorely, 
he  had  put  off  making  any  plan  to  see  her  until  the  facts 
were  less  vivid  and,  possibly,  less  poignant.  He  thought 
again  of  Lady  Carstairs ;  she  who  was  "affectionately  his." 
How  would  she  feel  if  he  went  to  her  and  blurted  out  the 
truth:  "Your  niece  is  mad.  She  is  locked  up  in  an  asylum, 
because,  if  she  were  not  there,  she  would  outrage  decency. 
She  lied  to  me  about  a  man  who  is  every  woman's  lover 
and  boasts  of  it ;  she  attacked  a  wretched  creature  who  tried 
to  hold  the  door,  and  then  attempted  to  take  her  own  life." 
No  one  was  to  know  where  Cathy  was,  and,  for  a  time  at 
least,  no  one  was  to  hear  that  she  had  lost  her  reason.  Dirty 
linen  was  to  be  washed  somewhere  well  out  of  sight,  and 
until  Doctor  Chapman  reported  upon  Cathy,  the  ugly  story 
must  be  kept  secret. 

He  got  up  wearily.    If  he  was  to  lie  successfully  he  must 


228  CATHY  ROSSITER 

do  so  unhesitatingly,  and  rout  the  faction  who  would  be  up 
in  arms  on  the  first  hint  of  the  truth.  He  nodded  to  one 
or  two  men  whom  he  knew,  and  as  he  passed,  one  of  his 
own  party  glanced  after  him. 

"If  Lorrimer  hadn't  got  money,  I  doubt  if  he'd  be  worth 
powder  and  shot,"  he  said  to  a  friend. 

"And  Hammersly,  as  well  as  money,"  added  the  friend. 
"Lorrimer  does  what  he's  told,  but  the  brains  aren't  his. 
He's  a  'ghost/  though  he  doesn't  look  like  one." 


CHAPTER  XX 

LORRIMER  sat  before  Lady  Carstairs  and  stirred  a  belated 
and  chilly  cup  of  tea.  He  found  his  way  full  of  pit-falls, 
and  he  had  plunged  into  rather  than  skated  around  them. 

"May  I  not  hear  all  particulars?"  Lady  Carstairs  asked. 

"Doctor  Henstock  called  in  a  local  man,"  Lorrimer  ex- 
plained, "a  fella'  called  Luke.  He  had  been  attending  Cathy 
before;  that  other  time " 

He  winced,  and  Lady  Carstairs  held  out  a  soothing  hand. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  "I  remember." 

"They  had  a  consultation,  and  both  agreed  that,  so  long 
as  Cathy  was  at  Kingslade,  she  was  not  sufficiently — er — 
quiet." 

"Not  in  her  beautiful  home?"  Aunt  Amy's  eyebrows 
went  upwards.  "I  thought,  the  day  I  went  to  see  her,  that 
nothing  could  well  be  more  peaceful  and  delightful." 

"I  am  sorry  to  say,"  Lorrimer  sat  up  stiffly ;  a  confidence 
of  some  kind  must  be  made,  and  this  was  the  moment  for  it, 
"that  Cathy  had  begun  to  give  a  great  deal  of  trouble."  He 
paused,  and  plunged  again.  "You  remember  her  friendship 
with  the  Danielli  crowd?" 

Lady  Carstairs  nodded  silently.  She  was  not  likely  to 
forget  the  episode  of  the  diamond  brooch. 

"They  were  determined  not  to  let  her  drift,  I  suppose. 
Anyhow,  Barlow  found  his  way  down  to  Kingslade  and 
saw  her." 

"Dear  me,  dear  me,"  Aunt  Amy's  hands  shook  nervously. 
"I  am  dreadfully  grieved  to  hear  this  from  you,  Jack." 

He  bowed  his  head  silently,  and  then  spoke  again. 

"As  it  is  not  possible  to  keep  an  eternal  watch  over  any- 
one of  Cathy's  age,  and  Doctor  Henstock  felt  she  could  not 
continue  the  strain  of  it  all,  it  was  settled  that  Cathy  should 
have  a  rest  cure." 

229 


230  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Very  right,"  Lady  Carstairs  agreed;  "I  am  sure  you 
were  well  advised.  But  you  must  let  me  know  what  doctor 
is  now  in  charge  of  her  and  where  she  is.  You  really  must." 

Lorrimer  moistened  his  dry  lips  and  stared  at  the  carpet. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "that  in  my  position,  when  I 
have  all  the  responsibility  to  bear,  I  have  also  the  right  to 
decide  whether  anyone  should  know — whether  even  you, 
Lady  Carstairs,  should  know  more  than  I  have  told  you." 

"What  possible  harm  could  it  do?"  She  was  growing 
agitated  and  rather  irritable.  "I  have  asked  you  to  let  my 
own  doctor  see  Cathy,  but  you  refused  this.  Do  not  think 
that  I  shall  press  the  question.  I  should  not  dream  of  try- 
ing to  see  her." 

"Quite  so,"  Lorrimer  agreed  absently.  What  a  nuisance 
the  woman  was. 

"Then  you  will  give  me  her  present  address  ?" 

"I  can't  do  that,"  there  was  stubborn  finality  in  his  tone. 
"At  present  the  only  people  who  know  it  are  myself,  Doctor 
Henstock,  and  two  others.  The — er — establishment  where 
Cathy  is  receiving  treatment  is  above  question  a  place  where 
she  will  be  well  looked  after." 

Lady  Carstairs  thought  for  a  moment.  She  had  suddenly 
begun  to  dislike  Lorrimer  again.  He  had  married  Cathy,  it 
was  true,  and  he  had  heretofore  behaved  admirably.  Now, 
all  of  a  sudden,  she  was  keenly  aware  of  the  claims  of  re- 
lationship, and  also  aware  of  the  fact  that  she  regarded 
Lorrimer  as  someone  outside  that  circle. 

"Cathy  was  in  the  position  of  a  daughter  to  me,"  she 
said,  trying  to  speak  persuasively;  "it  alters  things,  as  you 
will  admit.  I  stood  in  the  place  of  her  mother.  If  I  were 
her  mother  you  could  not  refuse  to  let  me  know  where  my 
own  child  is,  and  I  feel  that  it  is  due  to  me  to  know." 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  he  replied  stolidly.  "In  a  few  weeks' 
time  I  may  have  to  tell  you,  but  at  present  it  is  wiser,  for 
Cathy's  sake,  that  you  should  know  nothing." 

The  slow,  surging  anger  of  age  swept  over  Aunt  Amy, 
and  she  looked  at  Lorrimer,  her  eyes  icy. 

"I  will  make  no  secret  of  my  feelings,"  she  said  coldly. 
"You  put  me  on  one  side  at  a  time  when  I  fully  expected 


CATHY  ROSSITER  231 

your  consideration  and  confidence.  That  you  give  me 
neither  does  not  lessen  my  own  sense  of  responsibility." 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  in  the  same  hostile  tone. 

"I  feel,  further,  that  you  are  hiding  a  great  deal." 

"If  I  am,  I  can  assure  you  that  I  do  so  for  your  own 
sake  and  Cathy's,  far  more  than  mine."  He,  too,  was  angry, 
and  he  had  not  Lady  Carstairs'  self-command.  Very  soon 
they  would  be  at  open  war,  and  yet  he  had  come  there  to 
smooth  things  over.  "May  I  remind  you,  Lady  Carstairs, 
that  Cathy  is  my  wife,  and  that  I  cannot  allow  you  or  any- 
one else  to  advise  me  as  to  what  is  best  for  her." 

"Yes,  yes,"  Aunt  Amy  drew  her  silk  shawl  around  her 
shoulders.  "I  am  aware  of  all  that.  I  am  not  suggesting 
interference,  but  this  mystery,  this  baffling  attitude  of  re- 
fusal  " 

"Take  it  from  me,  that  it  is  better  so." 

She  meditated  carefully  over  what  he  had  said,  and  then 
she  spoke  again. 

"I  should  be  very  reluctant  to  adopt  any  course  of  action 
which  would  make  you  feel  that  I  do  not  entirely  trust 
you,"  she  said.  "It  takes  two  to  make  a  quarrel,  Jack,  but, 
at  the  same  time,  I  cannot  permit  you  to  leave  me  in  the 
dark.  If  you  decline  to  tell  me  where  my  niece  now  is,  I 
shall  be  forced  to  try  and  discover  for  myself.  I  could  not 
do  this  without  due  warning." 

"And  so  you  have  warned  me — or  is  it  a  threat,  Lady 
Carstairs  ?" 

"Threat  ?  What  can  you  mean  ?"  She  was  alarmed,  and 
looked  at  him  nervously. 

"I  mean  that,  when  outside  people  begin  to  speak  of 
finding  out  for  themselves  what  is  purely  a  personal  matter 
between  me  and  my  wife,  I  regard  it  as  a  threat." 

The  bully  in  him  began  to  get  the  upper  hand,  and  he 
remembered  how  Lady  Carstairs  had  spoken  when  he  an- 
nounced his  engagement  to  Cathy.  She  had  desired  to 
hinder  the  marriage,  and  now  he  wished  to  God  that  she 
had  succeeded,  but  as  she  had  not,  he  intended  to  let  her 
realise  that  her  place  was  an  insignificant  one,  and  that  she 
was  to  stay  in  it. 


232  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"You  regarded  the  marriage  as  a  mistake,"  he  went  on, 
with  an  unfriendly  smile.  "Possibly,  because  you  knew 
Cathy  better  than  I  did  then." 

"If  you  understand  her,"  Lady  Carstairs  broke  in,  with 
a  vague  movement  of  her  hands.  "If  only  you  understand 
her." 

"It  is  impossible  to  discuss  it,"  he  replied  briefly. 

"I  begin  to  agree  with  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  discuss 
what  is  only  a  vague  generality.  You  ask  me  to  accept 
the  decision  of  a  doctor  whom  I  have  never  heard  of,  and 
who,  so  far  as  I  can  recall  the  facts,  was  originally  brought 
in  because  no  one  else  could  be  found,  and  you  wish  me 
to  be  content."  Lady  Carstairs  rose  superbly  and  held  out 
her  hand.  "I  am  not  content,  and  I  shall  see  Monica  Hen- 
stock." 

Lorrimer  barely  touched  her  fingers  with  his.  He  was 
going  to  break  with  Cathy's  people,  and,  when  they  learned 
that  she  was  mad,  perhaps  they  might  feel  ashamed  of 
themselves.  At  present,  they  did  not  know,  but  some  time 
they  would  have  to. 

"You  can  see  Doctor  Henstock,"  he  said,  fiddling  with  a 
ring  on  his  little  finger.  "She  will  tell  you  nothing  more 
than  I  have." 

"Still,  I  shall  see  her." 

"Do,  if  you  like." 

He  shrugged  his  heavy  shoulders,  and  Lady  Carstairs 
looked  at  him  closely.  "I  am  very  far  from  satisfied,"  she 
said,  and  Lorrimer  checked  himself  in  the  act  of  replying 
that  he  was  in  the  same  boat,  and  that  it  was  considerably 
worse  for  him  than  for  her.  He  hated  her  at  that  moment, 
and  his  suppressed  feeling  of  indignity  and  anger  showed 
in  every  line  of  his  body.  They  had  snubbed  him  and  made 
him  cringe  in  the  old  days,  but  those  days  were  done. 

Lady  Carstairs  watched  him  go,  and  knew  that  they  had 
parted  in  enmity.  Something  had  altered  Lorrimer,  and  he 
was  obviously  suffering  from  outraged  feelings.  She  sat 
down  and  collected  her  thoughts.  Cathy  was  as  wild  as  a 
wood  bird,  and  she  could  easily  find,  in  this  Lorrimer  who 
had  presented  himself  that  day  to  Lady  Carstairs'  aston- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  233 

ished  eyes,  an  impossible  husband.  She  felt  that  there  was 
a  great  deal  behind  his  allusion  to  Barlow,  and  with  in- 
creasing nervousness  she  wondered  if  Cathy  could  have  been 
indiscreet.  That  Cathy  could  ever  act  dishonourably  was 
impossible  and  unthinkable,  but  she  might  have  done  some- 
thing that  inspired  a  man  like  Lorrimer  with  suspicion. 
Robert  Amyas  said  that  Lorrimer  was  like  a  policeman, 
and  would  inevitably  act  as  one.  Had  he,  then,  decided 
that  Cathy  should  be  removed  and  locked  up,  merely  be- 
cause he  suffered  from  jealous  rage?  During  their  inter- 
view there  had  been  times  when  he  looked  like  a  driven  bull. 
Lady  Carstairs  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and 
dried  two  weak  tears.  It  was  all  desperately  sad,  and  she 
feared  the  hidden  side  of  the  story.  It  would  be  better  to 
see  Monica  and  find  out  what  she  had  to  say. 

Monica  was  at  home  when  Lady  Carstairs  arrived  at  her 
house  the  following  day,  and  she  came  into  the  room  with 
no  abatement  of  her  professional  calm.  She  looked  tired, 
and  rather  older  than  when  they  had  last  met,  but  she  was 
deeply  entrenched  behind  her  defences.  Lorrimer  had 
rung  her  up  and  warned  her  what  to  expect,  and  she  was 
prepared  in  advance.  He  was  coming  to  see  her  that  night, 
and  already  she  was  counting  the  hours.  She  had  borne  the 
brunt  of  the  horror  of  the  situation  for  his  sake,  and  now 
she  was  going  to  let  him  off  any  description  of  it.  An  in- 
stinct deep  within  her  warned  her  that  she  should  take  this 
line.  Lorrimer  needed  peace,  and  if  she  added  to  his  dis- 
tress, the  power  which  she  exercised  over  him  might  weaken 
and  vanish.  For  his  sake  she  had  done  what  she  would 
otherwise  never  have  contemplated,  and  the  price  was 
ghastly.  There  was  no  getting  away  from  it,  the  payment 
had  been  overwhelming.  Yet,  was  it  entirely  for  his  sake? 
Was  there  not  a  promise  of  years  of  untroubled  unity  for 
them  beyond  this  present  time  of  torture  and  distress? 

Lady  Carstairs  had  come  to  find  out  where  Cathy  was, 
and,  true  to  her  principle,  Monica  intended  her  to  know 
nothing.  She  was  Cathy's  friend — in  spite  of  all,  she  still 
held  to  that — and  if  Doctor  Chapman,  who  had  received  a 


234  CATHY  ROSSITER 

cheque  for  three  months'  treatment  in  advance,  considered 
Cathy  cured  at  the  end  of  that  time,  she  would  be  able  to 
return  to  her  friends  without  anyone  knowing  that  the 
stigma  of  lunacy  had  been  attached  to  her.  It  would  be 
easy  to  tell  the  truth — easy,  even  though  there  would  be 
a  furious  burst  of  indignation  to  greet  it;  and  it  had  been 
a  mistake  to  call  in  Doctor  Luke.  Monica  saw  that  error 
clearly.  They  should  have  had  someone  well  known  to 
Lady  Carstairs.  She  stopped  abruptly,  for  she  did  not  care 
to  ask  herself  why  Doctor  Luke  had  been  selected  by  Ham- 
mersly.  Cathy  had  attempted  to  take  her  life,  and  almost 
any  doctor  would  agree  that  it  was  the  act  of  a  woman 
either  temporarily  or  permanently  insane.  Cathy  had  tried 
to  kill  herself.  She  had,  she  had,  she  had.  There  lay  the 
righteousness  of  the  decision  which  they  had  come  to.  It 
had  nothing  to  say  to  Barlow,  nothing  to  say  to  Cathy's  de- 
termination to  leave  Lorrimer  and  wreck  his  career.  Doctor 
Chapman  made  no  bones  about  it.  People  who  left  their 
husbands  or  wives  were  not  accounted  lunatics,  and  all  the 
rest  was  beside  the  point.  Lorrimer's  own  longing  for  an 
end  to  the  strain,  the  relations  between  him  and  Monica 
herself,  all  these  would  have  availed  them  nothing;  it  was 
Cathy's  act  that  made  it  necessary  to  take  the  step.  Doctor 
Chapman  had  known  nothing  of  the  side  issues,  and  he 
was  satisfied. 

She  went  into  the  old  drawing-room,  and  greeted  Lady 
Carstairs  with  friendly  warmth,  and  spoke  at  once  of 
Cathy. 

"Dear  Lady  Carstairs,  -I  can  guess  what  brought  you 
here.  In  fact,  I  was  going  to  see  you  myself  to-day." 

"Then  you  will  hide  nothing — you  will  tell  me?  Monica, 
I  place  all  my  trust  in  you." 

They  sat  on  an  angular  sofa,  hand  in  hand,  and  Monica 
talked  with  her  tired  energy.  She  gave  Lady  Carstairs  a 
long  and  technical  account  of  Cathy's  illness,  impressing 
upon  her  the  need  for  care  and  quiet,  and  then  she  explained 
that  Cathy  had  objected  to  the  nurse.  Cathy  had  broken 
bounds.  This  entailed  a  reference  to  Miss  Batten,  and 
Lady  Carstairs  shook  her  head. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  235 

"Not  trustworthy,  I  fear— we  had  evidence  of  that  al- 
ready." 

"In  the  end,"  Monica  swerved  off  to  the  abstract,  "I 
felt  that  I  could  do  no  more.  Acting  on  my  firm  convic- 
tion, I  advised  a  change  of  treatment,  and  this  could  only  be 
done  by  a  specialist." 

"Of  course,  of  course.    I  quite  see  all  that." 

"You  are  not  going  to  be  angry  with  me  because,  for  a 
time,  Cathy  has  to  be  hidden  away  from  everyone." 

"I  cannot  see  the  need  for  it,"  Lady  Carstairs  was  in- 
tensely grieved,  but  she  seemed  tractable,  "but  I  suppose  I 
shall  have  to  submit.  She  is  happy?  Monica,  I  need  not 
tell  you  how  dear  Cathy  has  always  been  to  me,  and  I  felt 
yesterday  that  things  were  gravely  wrong  between  her  and 
Jack.  It  may  have  been  only  my  imagination — I  hope  it 
was." 

Monica  looked  out  through  the  window  at  the  view  of  a 
neighbouring  wall,  and  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  reply. 

"There  are  times  when  Cathy  can  be  bewildering,"  she 
said  at  last.  "She  was  a  little — well — headstrong." 

Aunt  Amy  sighed.  She,  too,  had  suffered  from  Cathy's 
whims. 

'Then  you  assure  me  that  she  is  happy  now.  You  saw 
her  in  this  nursing  home  and  were  completely  satisfied?" 

"I  consider  the  doctor  in  charge  one  of  the  ablest  men 
in  England,"  Monica  replied. 

She  was  one  of  those  people  who  never  tell  lies,  and, 
though  the  lie  in  its  full  essence  was  implied  to  Lady  Car- 
stairs,  Doctor  Henstock's  conscience  was  clear.  She  had 
not  said  that  Cathy  was  "happy." 

And  so  the  interview  drew  to  its  weary  close  and  left 
Monica  with  a  sense  of  power.  She  had  been  able  to  re- 
assure Lady  Carstairs,  and  no  one  else  was  likely  to  do 
more  than  talk.  If  Cathy's  aunt,  who  might  feel  herself  in 
a  position  to  take  some  action,  could  be  kept  quiet,  it  was 
not  likely  that  the  others  would  continue  a  vague  agitation. 
She  had  scotched  Aunt  Amy's  project  of  going  to  see  Doctor 
Luke,  and  it  was  a  comfort  to  know  that  Hammersly  was 
arranging  that  he  should  be  taken  as  a  ship's  doctor  on  a 


236  CATHY  ROSSITER 

line  of  which  he  was  a  director.  Lorrimer  had  given  her 
this  information  over  the  telephone.  Luke  was  a  wretched, 
drink-sodden  creature,  and  not  a  colleague  you  might  well 
produce  to  Lady  Carstairs.  Kingslade  was  to  be  closed  for 
a  time,  and  the  servants,  who  knew  nothing,  were  to  be 
discharged.  Jack  thought  of  going  back  to  his  flat,  and, 
after  a  little,  the  outside  world  would  forget  to  wonder. 
She  wished  that  she  felt  happy  herself ;  happy  and  lighter 
of  heart.  Her  own  romance  was  about  to  come  to  fulfil- 
ment, and  yet  it  gave  her  no  real  joy.  There  were  so  many 
things  one  wanted  to  forget  utterly,  and  Monica  had  a  strain 
of  rugged  fidelity  in  her  nature.  It  had  held  her  faithful 
to  Lorrimer  when  he  pushed  her  aside,  and  it  was  still  there 
in  the  case  of  Cathy.  Cathy  had  supplanted  her,  had  cast 
her  glamour  over  Jack  Lorrimer  and  robbed  her  friend,  but 
none  the  less,  Monica  could  not  put  her  wholly  away. 
Monica  was  doomed  to  bear  a  spear  in  her  heart.  She 
looked  at  the  clock  and  counted  the  hours  again  until  he 
should  come,  and  she  might  escape  from  the  thrall  of  those 
awful,  reproachful  memories;  memories  she  might  in  no 
way  lessen  by  asking  the  man  she  loved  to  bear  the  burden 
with  her. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

CATHY  had  been  very  gay  as  she  and  Monica  raced  along 
the  glorious  roads  in  the  comfortable  car. 

"I  felt  as  if  I  was  never  going  to  be  amused  again  as 
long  as  I  lived,"  Cathy  said.  "I  had  lost  every  sense  of  the 
seasons,  and  the  Kingslade  roses  didn't  really  smell  sweet." 
Her  eyes  were  full  of  light,  and  she  poked  Monica  in  the 
ribs.  "You're  as  solemn  as  an  owl.  I  do  wish  you  hadn't 
such  an  active  conscience." 

"I  begin  to  agree  with  you,"  Monica  said  reservedly,  and 
Cathy  looked  out  over  the  wide  landscape  towards  the  ever 
receding  mystery  of  the  horizon.  She  became  silent,  and 
she  thought  of  the  future  with  a  sudden  sense  of  chill. 
She  thought  of  Lorrimer  and  tried  to  recall  her  old  feeling 
of  confidence.  She  had  taken  her  marriage  on  trust  and  it 
had  been  happy  if  not  ecstatic.  So  long  as  they  walked  to- 
gether agreed,  things  were  well  for  them,  but  it  takes  a 
deeper  unity  to  stand  the  strain  of  diverging  ideals,  or  sun- 
dering doubts.  Cathy  was  fundamentally  a  proud  woman, 
and  though  she  would  not  have  admitted  it  even  to  herself, 
she  was  aware  of  a  small  and  nagging  sensation  of  anger, 
since  Lorrimer  had  selected  such  a  man  as  Barlow  with 
whom  to  couple  her  name.  He  believed  her  capable  of  per- 
mitting George  Barlow  to  add  her  to  his  list  of  conquests. 

She  could  not  see  ahead  of  her  into  the  darkness  of  the 
future,  and  yet  she  desired  to  be  generous.  She  was  won- 
dering how  it  would  be  best  to  reassure  her  aunt,  and  how 
she  could  explain  the  break  between  herself  and  her  husband. 
Her  health  would  be  sufficient  excuse  for  the  outside  world. 
And  then  she  swung  away  from  it  all.  She  was  to  be  free 
again,  and  return  to  the  days  when  she  had  been  an  all  too 
happy  Cathy  Rossiter.  Dear  days,  more  precious  than  she 
had  guessed  at  the  time.  She  would  make  Jack  go  back  also. 

237 


238  CATHY  ROSSITER 

As  a  punishment,  he  must  show  her  that  his  political  opin- 
ions were  not  tainted  with  a  desire  for  personal  success, 
and  he  must  get  rid  of  Hammersly.  She  knew  that  Ham- 
mersly  was  perpetually  at  Kingslade,  and  he  was  far  too 
clever  for  Jack.  If  he  were  evicted,  and  Lorrimer  caught 
back  into  the  golden  web  which  had  been  shot  through  with 
the  colours  of  dreams,  they  might  forget  about  George  Bar- 
low and  find  comfort  again.  It  would  never  be  quite  the 
same,  and  there  would  be  rents  and  tears  to  be  mended, 
but  the  fabric  was  strong  enough  to  bear  a  new  piece  in 
the  old  garment.  Where  shall  one  find  the  whole  ideal? 
Perfect  lover,  perfect  husband,  perfect  friend?  Not  in 
this  world.  Like  the  rest  of  mankind,  Cathy  would  have 
to  make  the  best  of  it.  The  air  had  revived  her  and 
brought  a  touch  of  colour  into  her  cheeks,  and  the  far  sky 
was  blue,  traced  over  with  faint  nebulous  clouds,  filmy  and 
fine. 

But  there  was  a  doubt  in  her  mind,  and  the  doubt  had 
the  features  and  look  of  Lorrimer  himself  as  he  had  stood 
there  impeaching  her,  accusing  her  of  hopeless  vulgarity, 
and  telling  her  plainly  that  she  was  a  wanton,  at  the  beck 
and  call  of  a  blackguard.  If  you  hide  a  thing — well — you 
only  hide  it.  It  remains  there,  behind  the  curtain.  Some 
day  the  hangings  which  cover  it  may  be  withdrawn  again, 
and  once  more  the  ugly  past  stares  out  at  you,  no  less  true 
and  menacing  than  it  originally  was.  She  pictured  to  her- 
self the  comfort  of  going  back  to  Aunt  Amy.  Places  we 
have  known  and  loved,  as  well  as  people,  have  a  way  of 
tendering  a  welcome  to  returned  wanderers,  and  Cathy 
ached  for  the  lost  surroundings  of  her  life.  Life  was  now 
devoid  of  love  and  contentment,  and  even  more  utterly  de- 
void of  its  first  essential,  liberty. 

The  car  was  taking  them  along  a  wide  road,  sheltered 
by  tall  trees  in  deep  leaf,  and  flickering  splashes  of  sun- 
light lit  the  green  shade.  On  the  right,  there  ran  a  high 
wall  encircling  a  demesne  of  some  importance,  and  Cathy 
shook  free  of  her  thoughts  and  spoke  again. 

"I  hate  these  barricades,  Mug.  Seclusion  is  all  very  well, 
but  it  seems  so  grudging  to  enclose  oneself  in  walls  of  that 


CATHY  ROSSITER  239 

size,  uid,  look,  they  have  spikes  and  glass  along  the  top. 
What  curmudgeons  the  owners  must  be." 

Monica's  eyes  had  become  tense,  and  she  stiffened  her 
body,  but  she  made  no  reply,  and  after  a  minute  the  car 
approached  the  high  entrance  gates  to  the  demesne,  which 
opened  automatically  at  their  coming  as  though  they  were 
expected,  revealing  a  wide,  well-kept  sweep  of  gravel  drive. 

"We  are  going  in?"  Cathy  leaned  forward.  "It's  like 
enchantment.  What  a  funny  place,  Muggins.  Is  this  your 
Grange?  Have  you  brought  me  to  some  fairy  place  where 
we  shall  be  waited  upon  by  bodiless  hands,  like  the  prince 
in  the  old  story?" 

"It  is  the  Grange,"  Monica  said,  in  a  voice  which  sounded 
slightly  breathless  and  unsteady.  "It  is  a  beautiful  place." 

Cathy  reflected  for  a  moment.  "Somewhere  about  here 
there  is  a  lunatic  asylum.  I  remember  having  heard  of  it. 
Don't  let  us  go  near  it,  Mug;  the  very  idea  of  it  haunts  one. 
I  can't  remember  what  I  heard,"  she  thought  again.  "Yes, 
I  do.  It  was  Cecile  Sheridan  who  spoke  of  it.  She  came 
there  to  sing  to  the  poor,  doomed  creatures,  and,  as  the 
day  was  hot,  she  tried  to  open  a  window,  and  it  only  opened 
four  inches.  It  gave  one  an  idea  of  the  place,  which  I 
never  forgot." 

"Don't  think  of  it  now,"  Monica  said  hurriedly;  "don't, 
Cathy."  She  gripped  Cathy's  hand  with  nervous  fingers. 
"You  may  blame  me  dreadfully  later  on,"  she  said,  speak- 
ing as  though  impelled  to  utter  the  words ;  "but  always  try 
to  remember  that  I  acted  for  the  best." 

"We've  said  all  that,  Mug,"  Cathy  tried  to  reassure  her. 
"I  shan't  think  of  it  again.  Is  this  the  house?  I  suppose 
we  shall  lunch  in  the  grounds.  Why,  there  are  quite  a  lot 
of  people  out  there  on  the  grass.  They  are  watching  a 
cricket  match."  She  broke  off  and  would  have  taken  the 
speaking  tube,  "Jakes  is  taking  us  to  the  house ;  I  suppose 
he  doesn't  understand." 

"I  have  to  stop  here  and  see  someone;  a  Doctor  Chap- 
man," Monica  said,  taking  Cathy  by  the  wrist.^  "I  may  not 
be  long,  but  you  had  better  come  in  and  wait." 

"Well,  don't  be  long.    And  who  is  Dr.  Chapman?"  Cathy 


240  CATHY  ROSSITER 

looked  at  Monica,  and  suddenly  she  spoke  with  great  fee 
ing.  "Mug,  this  is  the  asylum,  and  you  have  not  told  me 
Why  couldn't  you  come  some  other  day?  I  hate  the  idea 
of  the  place  and  I  don't  think  I  can  come  in  and  wait. 
Leave  me  in  the  car,  and  do  hurry.  Let  us  get  away  from 
here." 

"That  is  sheer  nerves,"  Monica  said,  but  she  avoided 
Cathy's  wide-eyed  stare  of  horror.  "What  possible  harm 
could  it  do  you  to  wait  in  the  house?  I  told  you  I  should 
not  be  long." 

"Promise  me  that  we  shall  go  away  at  once,"  Cathy  said, 
and  a  shiver  caught  her.  "It  makes  we  wretched.  Perhaps 
there  are  people  here  who  are  as%sane  as  you  or  I.  Janey 
Greenaway  said  that  the  Lunacy  Laws  were  iniquitous,  and 
that  they  should  be  reformed.  She  told  me  that  you  could 
be  shut  in  without  even  knowing  who  it  was  who  had  you 
sent  there." 

"There  are  heaps  of  safeguards,"  Monica  said  abruptly. 
"There  are  the  Commissioners  in  Lunacy  who  visit  these 
places  and  see  the  patients.  No  one  is  kept  here  without 
reason,  and  Doctor  Chapman  is  wonderfully  clever  and 
very  kind." 

"What  an  awful  thing  it  is  to  be  a  doctor,"  Cathy  laughed 
in  spite  of  herself.  "No  one  but  a  doctor  would  dream  of 
motoring  through  a  place  like  this  on  a  summer  day.  I  do 
think  that  you  are  blunted." 

The  car  drew  up  before  a  flight  of  stone  steps,  and  the 
great  house  towered  up  before  them.  It  was  a  fine,  spacious 
building,  and  the  trailing  creepers  which  clothed  it  swayed 
scented  blossoms  to  the  warm  air.  There  was  no  sign  of 
age  or  decay  about  it;  prosperity  was  its  master  note,  and 
cheerfulness  was  insistent  in  the  shining  brass,  the  flower- 
ing window  boxes,  and  the  polished  gleam  of  rows  and  rows 
of  windows.  It  looked  like  an  expensive  hydro,  and  Cathy 
saw  a  nurse  in  blue  uniform  flit  past  the  open  door.  She 
was  interested  in  spite  of  herself,  and  a  tinge  of  curiosity 
coloured  her  repugnance  when  Doctor  Chapman  came  down 
the  steps  and  welcomed  his  colleague. 

Doctor  Chapman  was  a  man  of  about  forty,  with  an 


CATHY  ROSSITER  241 

easy  manner  and  strong,  hard  eyes.  He  was  dressed  in  a 
light  suit,  and  he  looked  intensely  and  emphatically  sane. 
His  rather  florid  good  looks  irritated  Cathy  slightly,  yet  she 
responded  when  she  was  introduced,  because  she  saw  in 
him  a  man  with  unusual  knowledge  of  secret  things,  and 
she  wondered  if  she  could  ask  him  if  Janey's  stories  were 
founded  on  fact.  The  "Danielli  crowd"  were  credulous  in 
some  ways,  and  Cathy  herself  had  a  firm  conviction  that  the 
evidence  of  men  or  women  who  might  have  been  insane  was 
hardly  the  basis  for  unqualified  belief. 

Doctor  Chapman  stood  bare-headed  in  the  sunshine,  and 
Monica  introduced  her  friend.  Cathy  held  out  her  hand 
and  smiled. 

"I  don't  think  I  want  to  come  in,"  she  said ;  "my  imagina- 
tion may  play  tricks  with  me  if  I  do." 

"You  need  not  fear  anything,"  Doctor  Chapman  replied. 
"Perhaps  you  have  been  reading  'Valentine  Vox'  or  'Hard 
Cash'  ?  We  have  left  those  days  far  behind  us,  Mrs.  Lorri- 
mer." 

He  helped  her  out  of  the  car  and  Cathy  looked  around 
her. 

"It  is  all  too  dreadfully  cheerful,"  she  said,  "and  too 
normal.  Ordinary  houses  have  raggy  bits  and  aren't  so 
frightfully  bland."  She  turned  again  to  Monica  and  began 
to  walk  up  the  steps.  "If  you  and  Doctor  Chapman  stay 
too  long,  I  shall  get  into  the  car  and  make  Jakes  take  me 
to  the  gate.  Oh!  that  gate  of  yours,"  she  spoke  to  the 
doctor  who  had  been  watching  her  with  an  indulgent  smile, 
"it  is  uncanny." 

"Nothing  uncanny  here,"  he  said,  as  they  stood  in  the 
wide  gloom  of  the  hall,  and,  opening  a  door  into  a  small 
boudoir,  he  led  Cathy  through,  with  the  same  excessive 
politeness. 

"Sit  and  rest,"  he  said,  and  Cathy  turned  again  to  Mon- 
ica. 

"Mug,  I  don't  like  staying  here,  I'll  wait  outside."  She 
could  not  tell  why  fear  had  sprung  upon  her,  and  she  held 
out  her  hands,  but  Monica  said  nothing,  and  Doctor  Chap- 


242  CATHY  ROSSITER 

man  smiled  again  at  her  and  waved  Doctor  Henstock  out, 
closing  the  door  behind  him. 

Cathy  sat  down  in  a  deep,  comfortable  chair,  and  looked 
around  her.  The  room  was  papered  with  a  gay  design  of 
birds  in  green  branches.  Not  wild  birds,  but  birds  who  had, 
she  thought,  something  fundamentally  wrong  with  them. 
Cathy  decided  that  she  did  not  like  them  in  the  least.  The 
window  was  a  little  open,  and  she  did  not  attempt  to  try 
whether  the  sash  could  be  raised.  Cecile  had  told  her  about 
those  very  windows,  and  the  idea  was  in  itself  a  shudder. 
Why  had  Mug  been  so  stupid  as  to  bring  her  there  at  all? 
It  was  enough  to  spoil  the  whole  pleasure  of  the  day.  If 
she  really  believed  in  all  this  bunkum  about  "nerves,"  it 
was  the  last  place  she  should  have  selected.  Cathy  looked 
around  her  again.  A  clock  ticked  on  the  mantelpiece,  and 
quiet  was  everywhere.  The  inmates  were  evidently  out, 
or  they  kept  extremely  quiet,  and  then,  as  though  to  con- 
tradict her  thoughts,  a  distant  scream  rent  the  air,  tearing 
the  silence  to  tatters.  It  was  not  repeated,  but  it  froze  the 
soul  of  Cathy  Rossiter.  She  sprang  to  her  feet.  Why  should 
she  stay  in  this  false,  smug  sitting-room,  which  pretended 
that  it  was  a  place  of  rest,  when,  in  reality,  it  was  an  an- 
nexe to  a  hidden  house  of  torment.  The  car  was  outside, 
waiting  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  and  she  could  stay  there, 
if  Monica  was  going  to  be  longer — she  had  been  long  enough 
already.  Cathy  felt  she  could  not  bear  to  hear  a  repetition 
of  that  awful  scream.  She  ran  to  the  door,  and  to  her  sur- 
prise she  discovered  that  there  was  no  handle  on  the  inner 
side,  so  that  she  was  virtually  a  prisoner.  A  hot  wave  of 
discomfort  swept  over  her,  and  she  stood  undecided  what 
to  do. 

Probably  Monica  had  been  induced  to  go  and  see  some 
specially  horrible  case,  that  would  account  for  the  delay. 
Doors  in  lunatic  asylums  were  different  to  any  other  doors, 
and  there  was  nothing  in  all  this  to  make  her  heart  beat 
fast  and  painfully,  but  there  was  the  sensation  of  being 
caged  in,  which  might  not  be  reasoned  with.  The  room 
was  full  of  sunlight,  and  the  window  would  only  open  to 
the  regulation  four  inches,  top  and  bottom.  Cathy  tried 


CATHY  ROSSITER  243 

it  and  found  this  to  be  the  case.  She  told  herself  that  she 
must  keep  quiet.  There  is  always  some  wild  power  under- 
neath steady  surface  control  which  can  break  out,  even  in 
the  most  normal  of  human  beings,  and  Cathy  battled  against 
her  own  desire  for  violent  action.  She  was  no  prisoner. 
She  was  only  waiting  until  Muggins  had  finished  her  long, 
drawn-out  confabulation  with  the  asylum  doctor.  There 
was  nothing  at  all  to  distress  her;  one  must  grip  tight  to 
facts.  The  wave  of  fear  passed  and  receded  and  she  sat 
down  again. 

To-morrow  she  would  be  able  to  tell  the  story  and  laugh 
at  it,  because  of  her  own  panic. 

Still  the  time  ticked  on,  with  irritating  monotony.  The 
scream  had  not  been  repeated,  and  Cathy  began  to  wonder 
if  she  had  imagined  it. 

But  it  isn't  pleasant  to  sit  in  a  room  which  you  cannot 
leave,  and  Cathy's  imagination  began  to  play  her  tricks. 
She  recalled  a  scene  in  "Just^ce/'  a  scene  which  had  bitten 
into  her  memory.  It  had  all  been  acted  in  dumb  show.  In- 
stead of  a  gay  boudoir,  the  surroundings  were  those  of  a 
prison  cell,  and  she  saw  the  tortured  figure  of  the  solitary 
man,  pacing  the  narrow  space.  The  window  was  high  over 
his  head,  and  he  had  lifted  his  hands  so  that  he  could  touch 
the  stone  sill  below  the  bars,  and,  far  away,  there  had  been 
the  sound  of  others,  in  a  like  case,  beating  against  their 
closed  doors.  The  struggle  had  been  desperate ;  and  at  last, 
overpowered  by  the  agony  of  his  desire  to  escape,  he,  too, 
had  thrown  himself  against  the  door  and  beaten  upon  it,  cry- 
ing wildly. 

Here,  all  around  her,  there  was  mystery;  uncanny  and 
vile,  and  she  stared  through  the  window  at  the  sleepy,  softly- 
shaped  clouds,  brooding  gently  over  this  mad  place,  where 
emotions  were  unrestrained  and  rabid.  She  knew  that  she 
was  frightened  by  the  atmosphere  of  the  place,  and  she 
began  to  wonder  whether  one  of  these  poor,  sad  creatures 
might  break  in  upon  her.  The  idea  of  it  turned  her  cold, 
and  she  got  up  and  went  to  the  door. 

It  was  positively  unkind  of  Muggins  to  keep  her  there  so 
long.  Muggins,  who  made  a  ridiculous  fuss  about  her 


244  CATHY  ROSSITER 

health,  was  now  ignoring  the  strain  she  put  on  Cathy's 
nerves.  Now,  it  was  over  half  an  hour  since  she  had  been 
waved  into  the  room  with  that  full,  sweeping  gesture  by 
Doctor  Chapman,  and  there  was  not  a  sound  or  sign  from 
outside.  There  was  no  bell  in  the  room,  and  Cathy  knocked 
on  the  panels  of  the  door.  If  anyone,  one  of  the  nurses, 
or  an  attendant  going  down  the  corridor  heard  her,  they 
cmight  come  to  her  rescue.  The  desire  to  get  out  was 
growing  overpoweringly  strong,  and,  from  knocking  gently, 
Cathy  began  to  hammer  with  her  fists.  She  was  not  in  any 
way  out  of  control,  but  she  was  angry.  Muggins  had  been 
utterly  inconsiderate,  and,  if  she  did  raise  a  commotion, 
she  hardly  cared.  The  place,  with  its  soulless  cheerfulness, 
was  as  odious  to  her  as  a  charnel  house,  and  she  struck  at 
the  door,  bruising  her  hands  with  the  force  she  used.  But 
no  one  answered  her,  no  one  had  heard,  perhaps?  Or  was 
it  that  such  sounds  were  all  too  common  to  be  regarded? 

The  immediate  surroundings  walled  even  her  own 
thoughts,  and  she  sat  down  once  more  and  tried  to  imagine 
what  it  would  be  like  to  be  back  with  Aunt  Amy  again. 
Robert  Amyas  would  come  and  see  her  at  once.  Robert, 
with  his  queer,  ironic  laugh  and  his  faultless  taste  in  clothes. 
His  mind  was  full  of  surprises,  and  Cathy  felt  that  it  would 
be  exciting  and  stimulating  to  have  him  to  talk  to  again. 
Ten  more  minutes  had  dragged  by.  What  would  Jack  think 
of  his  impeccable  Monica's  conduct?  If  he  knew  that  she 
had  taken  her  to  an  asylum  and  left  her  locked  up  in  a 
hateful  room  with  scores  of  ridiculous  birds  all  up  the  wall 
he  would  be  angry. 

It  was  a  blessed  thing  to  be  a  man,  and  have  a  man's 
strength.  Lorrimer  could  have  broken  the  lock  with  a  kick, 
and  flung  the  polite  and  vivacious  Doctor  Chapman  down  his 
own  front  steps,  but  a  woman  could  do  nothing.  There  was 
no  way  of  telling  what  one  could  do.  People  knew  they 
should  tuck  up  their  legs  in  a  railroad  accident,  and,  if  the 
chimney  went  on  fire,  you  got  wet  sacking  from  somewhere 
and  stopped  the  draught.  For  all  the  ordinary  disasters 
Of  life  there  was  some  simple  principle  by  which  you  acted 


CATHY  ROSSITER  245 

at  once,  but  when  you  found  yourself  in  a  room  with  no 
way  to  get  out  of  it,  what  did  you  do  ? 

Cathy  'sprang  to  her  feet  again  and  hammered  at  the 
door,  and  then,  pressing  her  mouth  to  the  crack,  she  called  : 

"Let  me  out,  please.    Let  me  out." 

Her  words  reached  Monica,  who  was  crossing  the  hall 
with  Doctor  Chapman,  and  she  stood  still. 

"It's  Cathy,"  she  said  in  a  low,  rapid  voice;  "she  is 
frightened." 

Doctor  Chapman  glanced  over  his  shoulder  and  signed  to 
an  attendant  to  remain  in  readiness,  and  went  on  talking  to 
Doctor  Henstock. 

"She  has  no  idea  of  the  condition  she  is  in,  and  already, 
you  see,  she  is  showing  hysterical  symptoms.  If  she  were 
normal  again,  dear  lady,  as  you  have  more  or  less  suggested 
she  might  be,  she  would  not  be  making  all  that  noise.  How- 
ever, we  are  well  used  to  these  outbursts,  and  in  a  day  or 
two  I  can  report  to  you  and  Colonel  Lorrimer  whether  she 
is  really  sufficiently  insane  to  make  it  necessary  for  her  to 
remain  here." 

Monica  stood  transfixed,  for  the  beating  upon  the  door 
became  suddenly  urgent.  Cathy  had  heard  voices. 

"She  is  my  greatest  friend,"  she  said,  catching  Doctor 
Chapman  by  the  sleeve,  "I  can't  say  what  this  has  cost  me." 

"Be  assured  that  you  have  acted  for  the  best,"  he  replied 
kindly.  He  was  sorry  for  her,  but  time  had  made  him  well 
accustomed  to  poignant  scenes  with  relatives.  People  came 
secretly,  and  they  were  ashamed  to  be  there.  Lunacy  was 
not  a  disease  like  any  other,  but  was  a  dreadful  stigma,  a 
blot  upon  a  family  record.  Something  which  must  be 
hushed  up,  because  it  was  unnatural  and  hideous.  There 
was  frequently  fear,  mixed  in  with  the  other  feelings  he  was 
accustomed  to  see  unveiled,  and,  as  Monica  was  no  rela- 
tion to  Cathy,  he  thought  her  a  sympathetic  and  affection- 
ate woman,  and  he  wished  to  send  her  away  reassured. 

"You  must  not  see  her  again,"  he  said  firmly.  "If  she 
feels  that  you  are  responsible  for  her  detention  here,  she 
might  become  violent.  I  think  you  have  acted  with  the 
greatest  tact  and  forethought,  and,  after  all,"  he  patted 


246  CATHY  ROSSITER 

her  hand,  "it  is  by  no  means  a  hopeless  case.  It  may  con- 
ceivably be  a  short  term  of  treatment  for  her." 

Monica  looked  up  at  him.  "Good-bye,"  she  said  slowly. 
"I  hope  all  will  be  well.  Do  you  think,"  she  looked  at  him 
desperately  again,  "that  she  will  ever  forgive  me?" 

"When  she  r^urns  to  her  full  sanity,"  he  nodded,  and 
smiled.  "She  will  then  realise  all  she  owes  to  you,  Doctor 
Henstock." 

He  saw  her  into  the  car,  and  Jakes  looked  curiously  at 
her. 

"Drive  me  to  the  station,"  she  said,  as  Doctor  Chapman 
folded  the  rug  about  her  knees. 

"And  to  come  back  for " 

"You  are  to  drive  Doctor  Henstock  to  the  station,"  Doctoi 
Chapman  said  firmly,  and  the  car  started  as  he  stood  in  the 
gay  sunlight  watching  his  colleague's  departure.  He  then 
turned  towards  the  house  again,  with  no  abatement  of  his 
cheerful  manner,  and  spoke  to  the  female  attendant  who 
was  waiting  in  the  hall. 

"The  patient  seems  excitable,"  he  said,  polishing  his 
glasses.  "She  will  be  placed  in  the  Infirmary  Ward  for  the 
present."  And  then  he  turned  the  handle  and  walked  into 
the  sitting-room. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AT  his  coming  Cathy  fell  back,  and  stood  divided  in  mind 
whether  to  be  angry  at  having  been  kept  there  so  long,  or 
whether,  now  that  it  was  over,  only  to  laugh  at  it  all.  She 
was  so  instantly  relieved  by  the  sight  of  Doctor  Chapman 
that  she  chose  the  easier  course,  and  smiled,  her  quick,  lavish 
smile.  She  looked  tossed  and  untidy  but  very  beautiful, 
and  Doctor  Chapman  was  aware  that  life  is  full  of  cruelty. 
This  radiant  woman,  who  had  all  the  world  could  offer  of 
happiness  and  hope,  was  more  pathetic  than  any  obscure 
lunatic  who  spat  and  jibbered  and  shouted  blasphemies.  Yet 
there  it  was.  She  had  tried  to  take  her  life  and  she  was 
mad.  He  had  not  studied  the  subject  for  years  without 
knowing,  if  the  hidden  seed  of  insanity  was  once  to  come 
to  growth,  that  very  little  divided  Cathy  from  these  others, 
though  at  the  moment  she  looked  as  fair  as  the  day  beyond 
the  windows. 

"I  thought  you  were  never  coming,"  she  said,  looking  for 
Monica  over  his  shoulder.  "I  suppose  when  you  get  two 
doctors  talking  they  are  as  bad  as  golfers,  or  two  men  who 
once  served  in  the  same  division  in  France.  I  banged  on 
your  door,  Doctor  Chapman,"  she  nursed  her  hands  rue- 
fully ;  "what  a  perfectly  hateful  thing  it  is  to  feel  shut  in." 

Doctor  Chapman  looked  at  her  steadily. 

"Will  you  come  with  me  now?"  he  said,  and  something 
in  the  way  he  spoke  startled  her  slightly. 

"Where  to?"  she  asked.    "Is  Doctor  Henstock  waiting?" 

"Doctor  Henstock  has  gone,"  he  said  quietly. 

"Gone.  But — I  don't  really  understand  you."  She  looked 
from  his  face  to  the  composed  face  of  the  attendant.  "She 
cannot  have  gone  away  and  left  me  here?  How  soon  will 
she  be  back?" 

"She  is  not  coming  back."  He  advanced  a  few  steps  and 

247 


248  CATHY  ROSSITER 

put  a  cool,  firm  hand  on  her  wrist.  "Ask  no  questions,  Mrs. 
Lorrimer;  do  not  excite  yourself  in  any  way.  What  has 
been  done  is  for  your  own  good." 

Cathy  stared  at  him  and  shook  her  head.  What  was  the 
matter  with  the  man? 

"I  have  to  go  to  London,"  she  said,  in  her  usual  gracious, 
easy  way.  "Perhaps  my  friend  did  not  explain  this.  Why 
she  should  have  left  me  here  I  can't  think,  but  as  she  has, 
can  you  send  some  one  to  order  me  a  taxi,  or  something 
to  take  me  to  the  station?" 

"Sit  down  a  moment,"  Doctor  Chapman  said.  He  was  a 
master  of  tact  and  discretion,  so  long  as  either  could  be 
used,  and  he  was  doing  what  he  could  to  soften  the  blow. 

"I  think  I  won't  sit  down,"  Cathy  objected;  "I  really 
am  in  a  hurry." 

She  was  sorely  angered  by  Monica's  inexplicable  conduct, 
but  she  felt  she  should  not  visit  it  upon  the  innocent  Doctor 
Chapman's  head. 

"You  are  not  leaving  here,"  he  went  on.  "Be  calm,  Mrs. 
Lorrimer,  please  be  calm.  Doctor  Henstock,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  another  doctor,  decided  that  treatment  was  neces- 
sary for  you  which  you  can  only  have  in  a  mental  hospital, 
such  as  this." 

Cathy  flickered  her  eyelids  and  grasped  the  back  of  a 
chair  with  her  hands.  He  had  told  her  something,  this  suave 
and  determined  looking  man,  but  the  meaning  of  his  words 
still  escaped  her.  She  only  looked  at  him  and  grew  very 
pale. 

"They  agreed — that  poor,  battered  Doctor  Luke  and 
Monica — that  I  was  ill?  In  what  way?"  Light  was  dawn- 
ing upon  her  slowly.  "You  don't  mean,  Doctor  Chapman — 
you  can't  mean,  that  they  decided  that  I  am  mad?"  She 
watched  him  with  wide,  terrified  eyes.  "Oh  no,  it's  ridicu- 
lous." She  rallied  herself  again.  "And  besides,  Monica  is 
my  friend,  she  is  open  as  the  day,  she  could  not  have  be- 
trayed me." 

"I  must  remind  you,"  he  said  gravely,  "that  you  attempted 
to  take  your  life." 

"That  is  untrue."     Cathy  drew  herself  up.     "Will  you 


CATHY  ROSSITER  249 

please  let  me  use  the  telephone.  I  must  speak  to  my  hus- 
band at  once  and  tell  him  to  come  here,  if  you  will  not  per- 
mit me  to  leave." 

"Colonel  Lorrimer  will  do  nothing,"  Doctor  Chapman 
replied.  "It  is  with  his  full  consent — more  than  that,  that 
you  are  here." 

"Jack  believes  me  to  be  insane?" 

Doctor  Chapman  took  her  hands  and  pushed  her  gently 
into  a  chair ;  she  was  trembling  violently  and  he  thought  she 
might  fall. 

"Beyond  the  act  of  murder,  there  is  nothing  which  is  so 
great  an  outrage  upon  the  law  of  God  and  man,  as  suicide," 
he  said,  holding  her  with  his  eyes.  "It  is  an  offence  against 
the  law,  and  one  for  which  you  could  be  tried  in  a  public 
court  You  disregarded  the  law,  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  and  both 
your  husband  and  your  friend  have  taken  the  gentlest  means 
in  their  power  to  protect  you  from  the  result  of  your  own 
act." 

"Muggins  and  Jack,"  Cathy  looked  blindly  before  her, 
and  her  hands  moved  vaguely.  "So  that  is  it  ?  They  took 
the  'gentlest'  way." 

"They  did."     Doctor  Chapman  repeated  his  assertion. 

"That  overdose  was  a  mistake,"  Cathy  did  not  look  at 
him,  she  seemed  to  be  talking  more  to  herself.  "No  one 
ever  really  doubted  that  except  Nurse  Binns,  and  then  they 
sent  for  Doctor  Luke.  What  did  he  do?"  She  put  her 
hands  over  her  face.  "Let  me  think,  please.  Doctor  Luke 
came  and  talked  to  me  about  suicide,  but  he  didn't  accuse 
me.  That  would  have  put  me  on  my  guard,  perhaps.  Jack 
went  away.  I  suppose  it's  easier  to  go  than  to  have  the 
courage  to  see  a  human  being  sent  to  hell."  She  laughed 
suddenly.  "It  took  my  friend,  Doctor  Henstock's  nerve  to 
stand  the  sight  of  so  much  treachery."  She  looked  up  again, 
and  her  eyes  were  haggard.  "What  are  you  really  telling 
me  ?"  she  asked.  "I  can't  understand  you.  You  see,  I  have 
only  just  come  to  know  that  two  people  I  believed  in  are 
traitors." 

"Don't  excite  yourself,"  he  said,  in  a  warning  voice. 
"Remember  that  a  nervous  breakdown  leaves  you  very 


250  CATHY  ROSSITER 

weak.  For  the  present,  you  are  in  my  charge.  You  will  be 
very  happy  here.  The  length  of  time  it  may  be  necessary 
for  you  to  remain  here  depends  largely  on  yourself." 

"How  so,  if  I  am  a  mad  womaii  ?" 

"Your  nerves  will  gradually  become  rested,  and  you  will 
return  to  a  normal  sense  of  life,"  he  went  on  kindly. 

Cathy  looked  wildly  around  her.  The  dark  flood  of  con- 
prehension  was  drowning  her  in  its  inrushing  tide. 

"Oh,  is  it  true  ?"  she  rocked  herself  in  her  chair.  "Is  it 
true?  What  have  I  ever  done  to  either  of  them  that  they 
should  treat  me  so  ?  I  would  have  gone  away,  I  was  to  have 
gone,  and  if  only  they  had  been  fair  to  me.  .  .  .  But  to  do 
this— to  do  this.  .  .  ." 

"Soon  you  will  regard  it  very  differently,"  he  said,  putting 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  signing  to  the  attendant.  "I 
want  you  to  go  with  Mrs.  Ridge.  It  is  not  all  as  unusual 
as  you  imagine." 

"Is  it  not?"  Cathy  looked  at  him  with  strange  eyes. 
"Not  really  unusual?  To  be  lied  to,  cajoled,  and  betrayed? 
Are  there  others  here  who  have  suffered  so?" 

"We  are  not  an  unhappy  little  community,"  he  said,  tak- 
ing her  arms  and  raising  her  to  her  feet,  "but  any  defiance 
of  discipline,  or  any  sign  of  violence  has  to  be  dealt  with — 
dealt  with."  He  could  feel  how  terribly  she  trembled.  "I 
assure  you  again,  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  that  much  depends  upon 
yourself.  Mrs.  Ridge  will  now  take  you  to  your  room,  and 
you  must  do  as  you  are  told."  He  smiled  reassuringly. 

"Don't  let  me  see  mad  people,"  Cathy  grasped  the  lapels 
of  his  coat,  "I  could  not  bear  it." 

She  clung  to  him,  and  he  put  his  hands  upon  hers  and 
released  himself  quietly.  The  attendant,  Mrs.  Ridge,  was 
watching  her  with  a  careful,  measuring  eye.  She  was  a 
large,  heavily-built  woman  with  arms  like  a  blacksmith. 

"Quietly,"  he  said.  "Quietly,  Mrs.  Lorrimer.  You  must 
take  life  very  easily  for  the  present.  Think  of  yourself." 

Cathy  drew  away,  and  she  laughed  wildly  again. 

"Of  myself?  I  have  a  great  deal  else  to  think  of.  The 
world  has  changed  within  five  minutes,  Doctor  Chapman. 
Five  minutes  ago  I  believed  in  two  people  who  were  closest 


CATHY  ROSSITER  251 

to  me,  and  now  I  see  them  for  what  they  really  are.  They 
have  taken  my  freedom,  and  it  would  have  been  a  cleaner 
thing  to  take  my  life.  You  call  me  mad,  and  .  .  .  they 
have  done  this  to  me." 

"Take  Mrs.  Lorrimer  away,"  Doctor  Chapman  said  in 
his  unruffled  voice,  smooth  as  sealing-wax;  "she  needs  at- 
tention." 

Walking  like  a  woman  in  a  dream,  Cathy  followed  the 
attendant  out  of  the  room,  every  detail  of  which  was  eter- 
nally stamped  upon  her  mind. 

"Please  call  me  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  said,  suddenly  awak- 
ing to  life  again.  "I  shall  never  again  call  myself  by  any 
other  name,"  and  Mrs.  Ridge  did  not  press  the  point. 

She  was  conducted  through  endless  corridors,  where  no 
one  seemed  to  be  about  except  a  few  attendants,  and  she 
heard  Mrs.  Ridge  speak  to  one  of  these,  and  tell  her  that 
she  was  to  be  her  "special."  A  number  of  doors  were  un- 
locked as  they  passed,  and  shut  automatically,  and  at  last 
they  reached  a  wide  ward,  from  which  a  number  of  cubicles 
opened,  and  Cathy  was  shown  into  one  and  told  that  for  the 
present  she  was  to  remain  there. 

She  gazed  around  her  and  sat  down  on  a  small  bed.  The 
first  spic  and  span  effect  of  the  place  was  no  longer  evident, 
and  the  room  was  dingy  and  bare.  One  window  which 
could  only  be  opened  two  inches,  with  heavy  shutters,  over- 
looked a  garden.  A  few  things  which  had  been  packed  into 
her  small  dressing-bag  were  arranged  upon  the  mean  dress- 
ing-table, and  again  there  was  no  handle  on  the  inner 
side  of  the  door.  The  room  was  incredibly  stuffy  and 
close,  and  Cathy  got  up  from  the  bed  and  walked  to  the 
window.  She  was  still  too  numb  to  think  of  anything  but 
Jack  and  Monica,  and  the  thought  of  her  own  condition 
hardly  touched  her.  They  had  put  her  here ;  she  who  be- 
lieved in  them,  and  they  were  outside  and  free.  By  means 
unknown  to  her,  the  thing  had  been  done,  and  she  was  a 
captive.  She  had  played  into  their  hands,  and  with  secret 
satisfaction,  they  had  watched  her  give  herself  away.  At 
that  hour,  it  came  to  her  clearly  and  without  shadow  of 
doubt,  that  Monica  desired  to  be  rid  of  Lorrimer's  wife, 


252  CATHY  ROSSITER 

and  that  he  had  consented.  Her  face  grew  ravaged  with 
the  agony  of  her  thoughts.  They  had  met  and  discussed 
the  chances,  called  in  a  poor  paid  ally  who  could  be  trusted 
to  do  as  he  was  bidden,  and  in  this  secret  way  they  had 
snatched  their  liberty,  their  vile  right  to  be  free  of  her. 
Thoughts  pursued  one  another  through  her  brain.  She 
had  told  Monica  that  she  would  get  a  separation  from  Jack. 
Surely  that  should  have  satisfied  their  rapacity?  Yet  no, 
there  was  Lorrimer's  career !  Respectability  must  be  main- 
tained at  all  costs.  Bigamists,  men  who  murdered  their 
wives,  so  that  they  could  remarry;  all  the  suffocated, 
wretched  people  who  "kept  up  appearances"  were  the  sacri- 
fice exacted  by  the  dreadful  god  who  went  clad  in  a  black 
coat  and  was  punctilious  as  to  the  observance  of  Sunday. 
Yes,  and  respectability  had  its  victims  in  lunatic  asylums. 
A  lunatic  usually  defies  respectability  and  the  respectable, 
arid  so  once  you  are  in,  you  don't  get  out.  She  was  the 
burnt-offering.  Again  she  stared  around  her  and  tried  to 
realise  where  she  was.  A  woman  in  a  black  dress  and 
white  cuffs  opened  the  door  which  Cathy  had  closed  when 
she  came  up,  ICfJked  at  her  inquisitively  and  retired,  leav- 
ing the  door  wide  open  and  fixing  a  catch  so  as  to  prevent 
its  being  shut. 

Cathy  had  been  standing  with  her  back  to  the  window, 
and  she  turned  and  leaned  her  arms  on  the  sash.  If  only 
she  could  forget  for  even  five  minutes  and  come  back  to 
herself.  Monica  had  kissed  her  several  times  that  day, 
the  Judas  kiss  of  betrayal.  Monica,  who  had  known  her 
and  her  ways  for  years,  could  not  really  believe  her  to  be 
mad.  Her  eyes  traversed  the  garden,  and  a  cold  stab  of  dis- 
gust struck  her  suddenly  and  outside  things  regained  their 
power  once  more.  She  was  hearing  sounds  again  and  seeing 
what  lay  around  her,  in  horrible  proximity.  In  the  sunny 
garden,  under  the  flowering  trees,  a  number  of  people  were 
collected,  and  it  was  at  these  that  Cathy  looked  with 
strained,  horrified  eyes.  The  patients  were  out,  and  they 
presented  a  ghastly  picture. 

For  the  most  part  they  were  old  women,  respectably  clad 
in  dingy  garments  of  antiquated  fashion,  and  they  moved. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  253 

•not  in  any  orderly  manner,  but  in  erratic  darts  and  rushes 
and  gathered  into  knots,  and  dispersed  again.  One  woman, 
who  gabbled  and  made  faces  continually,  had  her  own  face 
half  covered  by  a  black  bandage.  She  was  the  victim  of  some 
revolting  skin  disease,  which  made  her  seamed  face  hideous, 
apart  from  the  madness  in  her  eyes.  She  saw  Cathy  at  the 
window  and  waved  and  nodded  to  her,  but  what  she  said 
Cathy  could  not  hear.  With  a  touch  of  aloof  disdain,  the 
attendants  watched  the  group  of  patients,  speaking  sharply 
now  and  then,  and  talking  to  each  other.  To-and-fro  they 
moved  about  aimlessly,  and  there  was  never  a  moment 
when  they  were  still.  Among  the  others,  there  was  one 
young  girl  of  about  nineteen,  who  looked  frightened  and 
lost,  like  some  bewildered  child  who  had  strayed  into  a 
place  of  the  damned. 

Did  Monica  know  that  she  was  to  consort  with  this 
wretched  herd  ?  Cathy  asked  the  question,  and  the  response 
came  quickly.  Monica  knew  perfectly  well.  She  also 
knew  the  effect  it  might  have  upon  Cathy.  She  threw  her- 
self on  her  knees  on  the  floor  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  arms.  Was  there  any  use  in  praying  to  God  to  keep 
her  sane? 

Her  name  was  called  from  the  door,  and  Cathy  raised  her 
head.  "Please  speak  to  me  as  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  said,  and 
the  attendant  smiled  and  said  that  she  would,  certainly,  if 
she  wished  it.  She  seemed  a  kindly  and  well-disposed  girl, 
with  the  same  huge  build  as  Mrs.  Ridge,  and  she  asked 
Cathy  if  she  would  like  a  bath. 

"Not  now,"  Cathy  said  miserably,  "I  take  my  bath  in 
the  morning.  Do  go  away.  I  have  so  much  to  think  about." 

"Oh,  come  and  have  a  bath  after  your  long  drive,"  the 
girl  repeated,  with  a  touch  of  homely  familiarity.  "It  will 
do  you  good ;  take  your  thoughts  off  other  things." 

Cathy  sighed  and  rose  to  her  feet.  There  was  some  truth 
in  what  the  attendant  said,  and  she  followed  her  quietly. 

She  was  taken  to  a  bath-room  at  the  end  of  the  ward, 
which  held  about  twenty  baths,  and  the  attendant  explained 
that  she  must  not  leave  her,  but  would  help  her  to  undress. 
As  she  let  down  Cathy's  long,  thick  hair,  she  admired  it 


254  CATHY  ROSSITER 

profusely,  and  plaited  it  into  a  chaplet  which  she  bound 
round  her  head. 

"You  do  look  nice,"  she  said  encouragingly.  "If  you 
weren't  so  sad.  Cheer  up  a  bit;  the  doctors  like  bright 
faces." 

"Then  they  don't  often  go  to  watch  that  astonishing 
parade  outside  my  window,"  Cathy  said.  "You  don't  really 
believe  that  I  am — like  those  others?" 

"Oh,  they're  old  people,"  the  girl  replied,  pulling  off 
Cathy's  stockings.  "Don't  take  them  to  heart.  You 
couldn't  have  them  prancing  about  all  over  the  place,  could 
you,  now  ?  Probably  you'll  be  sent  to  Ward  I  soon." 

"My  God!"  Cathy  pressed  her  hands  over  her  heart. 
"How  long  shall  I  be  here — in  this  part  of  the  asylum  ?" 

The  girl  was  quite  ready  to  give  Cathy  any  information 
she  could,  and  from  her  she  learned  that  Dr.  Chapman  was 
the  superintendent,  and  lived  in  a  house  in  the  grounds,  only 
coming  into  the  wards  occasionally.  Otherwise,  Doctor 
Bracy,  the  resident  doctor,  looked  after  the  women  patients. 

"What  sort  of  treatment  does  one  get  ?"  Cathy  asked  halt- 
ingly. "What  do  they  do  to  all  of  them?" 

"Do?  Why,  nothing.  You  can't  do  anything,"  the  girl 
replied.  "There  now,"  she  pulled  aside  a  curtain,  "get  off 
your  things  and  have  your  bath." 

"Then  it  is  a  prison,  not  a  hospital,"  Cathy  said,  looking 
at  the  girl.  "If  nothing  is  done,  it  amounts  to  that." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  Get  into  your  bath, 
like  a  good  soul." 

"But  must  you  stay?"  Cathy  said.  "Surely  I  can  have 
my  bath  without  witnesses?  Can't  you  go  outside  the 
door?" 

Another  attendant  arrived  as  she  spoke,  a  tall  woman 
with  a  cold  face  and  narrow  eyes.  She  was  carrying  a 
notebook  and  a  pencil. 

"I  must  make  my  report,"  she  said  briefly.  "Have  you 
any  marks  or  scars?" 

"I  refuse  to  undress  myself,"  Cathy  said,  drawing  back 
against  the  wall. 

Her  eyes  flamed  with  anger,  and  she  stood  there  defiantly. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  255 

"I  do  not  want  to  use  force,"  the  new  attendant  said. 
"But  I  warn  you  that,  if  necessary,  force  will  be  used." 

They  took  her  clothes  from  her,  and  Cathy  stood  before 
them  feeling  that  the  last  rag  of  decency  had  been  swept 
away.  Her  white  skin  was  devoid  of  blemish,  but  she  felt 
that  never  again  would  she  be  clear  of  the  touch  of  those 
searching  hands.  At  last  she  broke  out  into  speech. 

"It  is  not  you  who  do  this  to  me,"  she  said,  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears  as  she  spoke.  "They  were  too  cowardly, 
those  who  sent  me  here;  but  it  is  they  who  have  stripped 
me  of  everything." 

"Now,  get  into  your  bath,"  the  woman  with  the  close  set 
eyes  said  briefly.  "I  did  not  expect  scars.  It  was  a  drug 
case." 

She  dropped  her  notebook,  which  was  hung  by  a  steel 
chain  to  her  waist,  and  turned  away,  neither  interested  nor 
moved  by  her  task. 

Cathy  slid  into  the  warm  water  and  sat  looking  at  the 
girl,  who  seemed  intensely  sorry  for  her,  and  was  leaving. 

"You  need  not  go,"  she  said  in  a  fiat  voice.  "That  is 
over.  It's  been  done,  and  for  you  to  go  now  is  not  neces- 
sary." A  sob  caught  her  voice,  and  the  girl  held  up  an  ad- 
monishing finger.  "Don't  cry,  whatever  you  do,"  she  said ; 
"you  can  be  kept  for  ever  in  the  infirmary  if  you  are  hys- 
terical. It's  lovely  in  Ward  I,  and  you'll  be  as  happy  as  a 
queen  once  you  get  there." 

Cathy  breathed  with  difficulty,  and  fought  down  her  sobs. 
It  was  no  use  to  cry,  no  use — worse,  far  worse  than  useless. 
In  utter  silence  she  got  out  of  her  bath,  and  came  through 
the  curtains  where  her  clothes  had  been  folded  when  she 
took  them  off.  They  were  gone,  and  a  nightgown,  taken 
from  her  bag,  was  lying  over  the  chair. 

"Am  I  to  go  to  bed?"  she  said,  "but  it's  quite  early. 
Why  can  I  not  dress  and  go  out?" 

"Not  until  the  resident  doctor  has  made  his  report.  If 
he  thinks  fit,  you  may  go  out  to-morrow." 

She  wrapped  Cathy  in  her  silk  dressing-gown,  and,  tak- 
ing her  by  the  arm,  led  her  back  to  the  stifling  little  room 
which  overlooked  the  airing  court,  as  it  was  called. 


256  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"I'll  bring  you  some  soup,"  the  attendant  said,  and  she 
helped  Cathy  into  the  small  bed  as  she  spoke,  when  a  loud 
knocking  was  heard  on  the  window. 

"What  is  that,  oh  what  is  that  ?"  Cathy  asked  desperately. 

"Go  away."  The  attendant,  whose  name,  Cathy  found 
later,  was  Agnes,  walked  to  the  window  and  waved  her 
hand.  "Don't  come  here  making  noises.  It's  only  one  of 
the  patients,"  she  said,  "you  can't  keep  them  off.  They 
want  to  be  in  bed  all  the  time,  and  they're  envying  you." 

Cathy  hid  her  face  in  the  pillow.  She  was  an  object  of 
envy  "at  that  moment.  What  depth  of  torture  it  suggested 
to  think  such  a  thing  possible. 

But  again  she  was  disturbed  by  the  return  of  the  atten- 
dant, who  was  carrying  something  that  looked  like  an  of- 
ficial paper. 

"What  is  it  for?"  Cathy  asked  stupidly,  as  she  took  it  in 
her  hands ;  "I  don't  understand." 

Agnes  looked  at  her  with  a  suggestion  of  pity. 

"If  you  want  to  see  a  magistrate,  you  must  fill  up  this 
form,"  she  explained. 

Cathy  raised  her  startled  eyes.  "A  magistrate!  Why 
should  I  want  to  see  one?" 

The  attendant  was  kind,  and  began  to  explain  as  though 
she  were  speaking  to  a  child. 

"It's  like  this,"  she  said  patiently.  "If  you  have  an  idea 
that  you're  not  satisfied,  the  law  is  that  you  can  tell  a  magis- 
trate all  you  feel  about  it,  and  if  he  agrees,  why,  out  you 
go.  There  now." 

Cathy  stared  at  Agnes;  she  was  gradually  beginning  to 
understand  that  she  was  a  bringer  of  good  tidings. 

After  all,  it  was  simple  enough,  and  certainly  Agnes  was 
not  fooling  her;  she  looked  too  honest  for  that. 

"Then  I  can  really  do  this  ?"  she  said  with  growing  cour- 
age. "Oh,  Agnes,  you  have  made  me  happy.  Of  course  I 
will  sign  it,  and  I  know  what  I  have  to  say  to  him." 

She  took  the  pen  from  the  attendant's  hand,  and  signed 
her  name  in  the  place  indicated,  and  Agnes  folded  up  the 
paper  and  nodded  encouragement,  as  she  went  out  through 
the  open  door. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  257 

Again  she  was  left  alone,  and  Cathy  tried  to  think  of 
something  other  than  Jack  and  Monica.  She  must  think, 
she  told  herself,  because,  unless  one  did,  there  was  no  way 
by  which  one  could  make  any  plan.  The  urgent  necessity 
was  to  see  the  nearest  magistrate  and  get  out  of  the  horror- 
stricken  place  before  her  sanity  was  destroyed;  if  she  could 
think  only  of  the  cruel  wrong  which  had  been  done  to  her, 
she  would  have  neither  the  courage  nor  the  wit  to  face  the 
far  more  pressing  question.  She  must  cease  to  go  over  the 
events  which  had  led  her  to  this  home  of  lost  souls,  and 
strive  to  see  some  way  by  which  she  could  escape.  The 
two  who  had  sent  her  there  were  in  the  open  world  where 
people  went  by  along  the  streets,  and  where  you  were  not 
stripped  naked  and  then  pushed  into  a  prison  cell,  doomed 
to  the  stupid,  aimless,  so-called  "treatment,"  which,  it  ap- 
peared, meant  only  detention ;  being  held  away,  among  men 
and  women  of  diseased  mind.  The  sunlight  was  falling 
on  the  smoke-grimed  trees  of  Lady  Carstairs'  garden  and 
th«i  water  splashing  in  the  leaden  fountain,  just  as  it  had 
years  ago,  those  ages  and  seons  back,  when  Cathy  Rossiter 
u?ed  to  sit  there.  Just  as  it  would  to-morrow  and  the  next 
day,  and  the  day  after,  when  Cathy  was  slipping  away  from 
ckan,  sane  things,  and  falling  into  the  black  abyss  of  name- 
less terror. 

Again  the  knocking  was  repeated  at  the  window,  and  a 
face  was  pressed  against  the  class.  A  dull,  witless  face, 
devoid  of  any  gleam  of  intelligence,  and  Cathy  heard  a 
querulous,  wailing  voice  crying  to  her  to  let  her  in  and 
lev  her  sleep.  Did  anyone  really  sleep  in  this  inferno  ? 

Cathy  sat  up  in  bed  with  both  hands  to  her  heart.  She 
had  only  been  there  a  little  over  two  hours,  but  what  had 
become  of  time?  She  fell  on  her  arms  again  and  buried 
her  face.  If  she  cried,  there  was  the  threat  of  endless 
torture  in  the  infirmary.  Again  and  again  she  climbed  the 
mountain  of  misery  which  walled  her  in,  and  tried  to  grasp 
at  any  hope  or  comfort,  but  her  world  had  slipped  into 
chaos ;  she  was  lost  in  the  sudden,  impenetrable  darkness 
of  it  all. 

The  weary  day  dragged  on  to  evening,  and  the  hot  blaze 


258  CATHY  ROSSITER 

of  sunlight  shifted  from  her  window  until  the  room  became 
dark,  and  Cathy  did  not  stir  nor  weep.  There  was  a  house- 
doctor  who  would  visit  her  sometime,  and  she  must  placate 
him.  In  other  days  she  had  exercised  a  kind  of  right  di- 
vine over  the  men  she  met,  and  she  felt  that  if  there  had 
been  any  reality  in  her  power,  she  must  use  it  afresh,  use 
it  as  she  had  never  wittingly  done,  because  in  that  man's 
hands  lay  the  keys  of  life  or  death  for  her.  Lorrimer  and 
Monica  were  probably  together  by  now,  and  they  would 
have  a  story  ready  to  satisfy  Lady  Carstairs.  "Cathy  is 
mad.  We  had  to  lock  her  up."  And  then  word  would  go 
round  gradually,  until  people  all  knew  that  she  was  mad, 
and  no  one  would  ever  again  credit  anything  she  had  to 
say.  Lady  Carstairs  might  be  heartbroken,  but  she  would 
believe  the  lie — who  was  there  who  would  not?  Cathy's 
fingers  pressed  hard  against  her  temples.  Twyford?  He 
would  surely  not  accept  it  as  a  fact.  Robert  ?  She  thought 
of  him  with  a  sudden  rush  of  something  closely  akin  to 
love.  Robert,  if  all  the  rest  of  the  world  threw  the  word 
at  her  like  a  stone,  would  stand  by  her.  He  had  a  great 
pity  somewhere  under  his  superficial,  cynical  way,  and  he 
could  be  trusted  if  only  he  knew  where  she  was.  Amyas 
had  known  what  Lorrimer  was  from  the  first,  he  had 
caught  sight  of  the  beast  in  him,  so  discreetly  and  carefully 
hidden  away  from  all  the  rest.  It  helped  her  a  little  to 
think  of  him,  and  she  turned  towards  the  memories  of  the 
past,  holding  them  to  her  with  tender  hands. 

But  the  quiet  was  soon  broken,  and  the  patients  began  to 
troop  in  for  dinner.  The  girl  Cathy  had  seen  from  the 
window,  stood  at  the  door,  rolling  her  eyes  wildly,  as  a  line 
of  wretched  creatures  passed  on,  singing  or  bawling,  and 
snatching  at  each  other.  The  girl  came  to  Cathy's  bed. 

"Why  are  you  here?"  she  said,  and  sat  down  on  Cathy's 
bed.  She  was  carrying  large  knitting  pins,  and  she  worked 
violently.  "What  did  you  do?  Did  you  try  to  murder 
anybody?"  Cathy  shrank  away  terrified  by  her  close  prox- 
imity and  the  wild  eyes. 

"You  have  a  kind  face ;  I  don't  think  you  are  bad." 

"Now,  Miss  Hepworth,  be  careful,"  her  attendant  spoke 


CATHY  ROSSITER  259 

sharply  from  the  door,  and  the  girl  cowered  down  at  once. 

"I  was  only  asking  her  what  she  did.  We've  all  done 
something,  Maggy,  or  we  wouldn't  be  here." 

"Let  her  stay,"  Cathy  said,  seized  with  a  sudden  pity 
which  conquered  her  fear  as  she  saw  her  being  pulled 
away.  "She  will  do  me  no  harm." 

But  the  woman  only  took  her  visitor  by  the  arm  and 
pulled  her  out,  leaving  the  door  wide  open. 

The  girl  addressed  as  Miss  Hepworth,  broke  into  violent 
sobbing,  and  Cathy  saw  her  go  down  the  open  ward,  which 
was  now  crowded  with  inmates. 

The  sight  that  Cathy  saw  was  an  awful  one,  and  the  air 
was  full  of  uncouth  noises,  as  one  old  patient  farther  down 
the  ward  was  being  forcibly  fed.  At  eight  o'clock  lights 
were  turned  on,  and  Cathy  had  finished  her  own  meal.  A 
sense  of  defeat  overtook  Cathy,  and  she  lay  quite  still,  con- 
scious that  a  rage  of  fever  was  throbbing  in  her  veins. 
Somehow  the  minutes  dragged  past,  and  the  hour  came 
when  the  patients  had  to  be  got  to  bed.  There  was  one 
patient  in  a  straight- jacket,  who  was  allotted  the  bed  next 
to  that  of  the  weeping  girl,  and  old,  withered  women  were 
undressed  like  children,  to  an  accompaniment  of  frequent 
slappings.  They  broke  into  scolding  or  tears,  they  pleaded 
desperately  with  their  wardresses,  and  at  times  they  turned 
fierce  and  screamed  and  cursed.  "Ye  filthy  bitch"  was  one 
of  the  less  violent  terms  they  chose,  and  yet  they  had  all 
once  been  decent  people. 

It  was  as  though  Cathy  had  been  taken  and  shown  a  cham- 
ber in  hell.  The  utter  indecency,  the  obscenity  and  the 
filthiness  of  it  all  rose  rank  and  vile,  and  still  she  lay  trans- 
fixed, watching,  always  watching.  At  last  the  house-doctor 
came.  He  was  a  short  man,  with  a  heavy  red  face  and 
humorous  eyes.  Cathy  watched  him  eagerly  as  he  went  up 
the  ward,  and  cast  a  casual  glance  around  him.  He  looked 
as  though,  outside  the  Asylum,  he  might  be  a  kind,  good- 
natured,  unintelligent  type  of  man.  He  had  obviously  no 
imagination,  and  he  received  the  abuse  with  which  some 
of  the  patients  greeted  him  with  cheerful  indifference. 
Others  were  slavish  and  fawning  and  appeared  to  desire 


26o  CATHY  ROSSITER 

to  curry  favour  by  telling  tales  and  abasing  themselves  to 
him.  He  was  very  quick  about  his  business,  and  what  he 
could  possibly  have  learned  as  to  the  state  of  any  individual 
case  Cathy  could  not  imagine. 

When  he  came  to  the  door  of  her  cubicle  he  smiled,  and 
said,  "Well,  and  how  are  we?"  and  Cathy  gathered  her 
resources  for  an  effort. 

"Can't  I  be  given  a  room  away  from  here?"  she  asked, 
leaning  on  her  arm  and  looking  up  at  him  with  her  wonder- 
ful eyes.  "They  are  rather  noisy,  Doctor  Bracy,  and  I 
don't  sleep  very  well." 

"Now,  now;  now,  now,"  he  put  his  hands  in  the  pockets 
of  his  sporting  coat.  "Don't  begin  by  finding  fault.  It's  a 
mistake." 

"Would  you  like  to  have  to  sleep  here  ?"  she  asked. 

"They  will  sleep,"  he  nodded  his  head  towards  the  ward. 
"The  night  won't  be  noisy.  Now  let  me  have  a  look  at 
you."  The  attendant  with  the  notebook  had  joined  him. 
Cathy  tried  not  to  tremble  as  he  felt  her  pulse. 

"How  do  you  know  whether  I  am  mad  or  not?"  she 
asked. 

"Now,  now,  my  lady,"  he  almost  winked  at  her,  "I 
thought  that  question  would  come." 

"Yes,  but  how?" 

"I  could  show  you  patients  here,"  he  went  on,  "as  sane 
as  I  am  myself,  so  long  as  you  don't  hit  on  one  subject. 
They  have  their  weak  link — you  have  yours." 

"But  I  did  not  wish  to  kill  myself.  The  overdose  was 
sheer  accident." 

Doctor  Bracy  began  to  hum  a  rag-time  tune,  and  he  ma'de 
no  reply. 

Cathy  saw  that  he  intended  to  leave  her,  and  she  spoke 
again. 

"I  must  sleep,"  she  said  desperately. 

"Well,  so  you  will.  It's  early  yet,  and  you  are  probably 
accustomed  to  different  hours." 

"Can't  you  give  me  something  to  make  sure?" 

He  looked  at  her  blandly  and  seemed  secretly  amused. 

"Mrs.  Lorrimer,  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  as  you  asked 


CATHY  ROSSITER  261 

me  for  an  instance  to  prove  that  you  are  insane ;  what  you 
have  said  is  substantial  proof.  A  desire  for  sleep  is  a 
symptom  well  known  to  the  medical  world." 

Cathy  clasped  her  hands  on  her  knees. 

"Then  every  one  is  mad,"  she  said,  and  she  felt  that  she 
must  break  into  helpless  tears.  "Either  I  was  always  a 
lunatic,  and  should  have  been  treated  as  one,  or  I  am  sane. 
How  am  I  to  keep  sane  in  this  vile,  terrifying  place  ?  Look 
at  those  women,"  she  pointed  to  the  ward  where  a  patient 
was  fighting  with  one  of  the  wardresses.  "Am  I  to  see  these 
sights  and  hear  these  sounds  until  my  own  self-respect  gives 
way,  and  I,  too,  scream  and  say  filthy  things?  Oh,  no, 
Doctor  Bracy,  no ;  don't  let  this  happen  to  me."  She  flung 
herself  half  out  of  her  bed  and  grasped  his  hands. 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,"  he  said,  not  unkindly,  and  he  put 
her  back  in  her  wretched  bed  again.  "I  think  at  the  end  of 
a  week,  if  you  behave  yourself,  you  may  be  moved  into 
Ward  I." 

"I  am  allowed  to  see  a  magistrate,"  she  said,  falling  back 
upon  the  hope  held  out  to  her  by  the  law.  "Can  I  do  this 
at  once?" 

"You  can,  certainly,"  he  agreed,  "as  soon  as  you  are  a 
little  better." 

'  He  left  her  without  further  comment,  and  the  door  was 
closed,  and  Cathy  was  once  more  a  prisoner.  The  night 
and  darkness  were  before  her,  and  her  dread  of  both 
doubled  once  she  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AFTER  a  time  the  ward  grew  comparatively  quiet,  and  the 
sounds  trailed  off  into  silence.  Cathy  herself  slept  in  a 
few  exhausted  snatches,  troubled  with  terrifying  dreams. 
Sleep  had  no  blessing  to  bring  to  such  a  place,  and  when  she 
awoke,  dripping  with  perspiration  and  conscious  of  wild 
alarm,  the  dense  darkness  was  full  of  menace  to  her.  The 
realisation  that  she  was  in  a  mad-house  with  no  hope  of  es- 
cape drove  out  all  other  thoughts. 

She  sprang  out  of  bed,  but  the  door  was  securely  fastened, 
and  whatever  noise  it  was  which  had  awakened  her,  began 
again.  After  a  moment,  she  located  the  sound.  It  was 
coming  from  what  were  possibly  the  padded  cells,  at  the 
farther  side  of  the  court-yard  where  she  had  seen  the 
drifting  herd  of  lunatics  that  afternoon.  A  voice,  so  loud 
that  it  hardly  appeared  human,  was  shouting  to  the  night, 
and  crying  persistently,  "Mary,  Mother  of  God." 

Cathy  hammered  on  the  door ;  she  could  not  be  left  alone 
with  this  new  torture.  It  seemed  to  her  as  though  the  cry- 
ing came  storming  through  the  world,  a  lonely  voice  echoing 
and  echoing  onwards  as  she  remembered  she  had  been  told 
that  sound  echoed  endlessly  and  never  really  ceased.  Was 
it  the  voice  of  one  woman  or  the  voice  of  all  the  wretched 
souls  gathered  under  that  fell  roof,  weeping  its  fantastic 
griefs  to  the  skies?  She  put  her  hands  over  her  ears  and 
crouched  down  on  the  floor,  but  she  could  not  shut  out  the 
sound.  Was  it  never  going  to  cease?  It  stopped  quite 
suddenly,  and  the  relief  was  inexpressible.  She  felt  it  might 
be  over,  and  thinking  again  of  how  much  depended  upon 
her  getting  some  sleep,  she  went  back  to  her  bed  and  lay 
down,  but  not  to  rest,  for  once  more  the  cry  rang  out, 
farther  off,  it  seemed,  as  though  the  woman  had  been  moved 
away  from  the  first  point,  but  the  shriek  was  wilder  and 

262 


CATHY  ROSSITER  263 

less  controlled,  though  more  distant.  Again  the  pause  was 
repeated,  and  again  the  crying  followed  the  silence,  from  a 
still  more  distant  place.  The  uncertainty  and  the  mental 
picture  of  the  wild  creature  being  dragged  from  place  to 
place  gripped  her  heart,  and  Cathy  threw  herself  out  of 
her  bed.  How  could  she  sleep  in  such  a  place  as  this? 

Again  and  again  she  hammered  on  the  door,  and  then  at 
last  she  lay  exhausted  by  the  window.  No  one  was  coming 
to  her,  and  she  must  bear  it  all  alone ;  alone  in  a  place  where 
sins  of  some  nameless  kind  were  conceived  in  the  distorted 
minds  of  the  inmates.  The  misery  of  her  own  state  drove 
her  mind  away  from  the  sound  for  a  time,  and  she  knelt, 
leaning  forward  on  her  hands,  staring  at  the  windowed 
square  of  dim  light.  Madness  was  having  its  carousal,  and 
the  driven  sense  of  desperation  increased  in  its  strength. 
What  if  she  were  never  to  get  out?  She  had  seen  a  man 
pacing  alone  on  the  grass  beyond  the  house ;  pacing  and 
pacing,  as  though  he  were  trying  to  keep  his  body  from 
some  wild  outburst.  His  face  was  a  fine  one,  but  she  had 
shrunk  before  the  shadow  in  his  eyes.  One  of  the  ward- 
resses told  her  that  he  was  a  "life  case" — that  was  all. 
Oh,  the  interminable  woe  and  terror  of  the  words.  Sitting 
back  on  her  heels,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
The  woman's  throat  must  be  like  a  throat  of  brass,  and 
Cathy  wondered  if  it  was  the  woman  she  had  seen  being 
dragged  along  the  floor  by  four  wardresses.  She  had 
turned  her  face  from  the  sight  as  they  passed,  and  felt  a 
sensation  of  faintness. 

A  new  phase  of  the  night  began  to  develop.  Quite  close 
to  her — only  a  few  doors  away,  she  judged — someone  began 
to  talk  excitedly,  almost  as  though  she  was  talking  in  her 
sleep.  A  few  broken  words  at  first  were  all  that  reached 
Cathy,  and  then,  with  gathering  vehemence,  a  torrent  of 
speech  followed,  spoken  with  the  wild  delirium  of  sheer 
madness. 

Life  had  prepared  her  for  no  experience  such  as  this. 
It  had  come  upon  her  like  an  earthquake  shock  on  a  fair 
summer  day.  Her  room  became  like  a  ward  in  hell,  and  she 
felt  along  the  walls  with  groping  hands.  She  knew  that  she 


264  CATHY  ROSSITER 

must  fix  her  mind  upon  something  tangible,  and  she  sat 
down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  forced  herself  to  listen. 

"I'll  stay  everywhere,"  the  voice  bawled  imperatively. 
"Now  what  else  can  I  muddle  up?  I  said  everything  that 
speaks  its  mind.  There  was  something  else  I  might  have 
kept  secret.  If  I'd  only  known."  This  was  how  the 
wretched  creature  thought  then?  Broken  scraps  of  words, 
but  spoken  in  continuous  and  abrupt  jerks.  "Didn't  he  tell 
everybody  that  they  were  not  to  look  back?  Of  course  he 
did!  Now,  try  to  say  that.  Go  on,  I  say,  go  on  and  try. 
.  .  .  Any  woman  who  ever  marries,  any  woman  who  doesn't 
marry  must  acknowledge  her  mother  first.  Not  her  father 
— I  never  said  her  father,  never,  never.  .  .  .  Now  then, 
what  did  I  first  remember?  Because  I've  forgotten.  I 
must  have  been  spoken  to  upside  down.  If  you  said  both 
my  hands  you  were  wrong,  they  can't  both  be  alike.  They 
are  never  always  the  same."  Not  for  one  instant  did  the 
stricken  creature  rest.  "I  always  speak  the  truth,"  she 
shouted  combatively,  "the  honest  truth.  He  didn't  know 
that  when  he  married  me.  But  then,  I  have  told  you  before. 
I  was  married  wrong.  I  mean,  I  married  the  wrong  man. 
Somehow  or  other  I  found  out  that  if  they  want  a  girl  they 
ask  for.  .  .  .  What  do  you  think?"  there  was  the  least 
pause — "a  clean  handkerchief !  Go  on !  Go  on !  Go  on ! 
Yes,  yes,  yes,"  the  voice  towered  up  to  a  scream.  "Never 
mind  about  me.  Haven't  I  yelled  it  enough  ?  Go  on,  I  say. 
No,  I  won't  shut  up.  Go  on  for  ever,  Charles.  How  did 
he  know  it  ?  Shut  up,  Thomas,  or  whatever  you  like,  shut 
up,  Thomas.  You  told  me  so  yourself.  Course,  you  did." 

Cathy  felt  as  though  the  room  was  swimming,  and  she 
sank  down  on  her  bed,  but  still  the  pitiful  tones  cried  on. 

"I  knew  I'd  married  the  wrong  man.  That  makes  just 
the  difference.  Oh  no,  no,"  again  the  wild  scream,  "it  was 
not  right.  I  thought  it  was.  I  thought  it  was,  that  was  all. 
I  caught  him  in  the  very  act,  and  then  when  I  caught  him. 
...  I  knew  him.  Now  then,  do  you  want  the  reason  first 
or  the  cause?  The  reason  or  the  cause,  I  say?  Do  you 
hear?"  The  voice  tore  the  night  ferociously.  "No,  you 
needn't  swear.  You  needn't  swear  anything.  If  you  want 


CATHY  ROSSITER  265 

to  know  my  age,  if  you  really  want  to  ...  of  course  I 
shan't  say  it.  It  might  be  thirty-two,  and  it  might  be  forty- 
six."  She  laughed  wildly.  "I  always  say  I  was  born  in 
'76,  and  then  I  can't  count  it.  One,  two,  three,  four,  five, 
six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten.  Ten,  I  must  remember  that. 
That's  most  important;  and  yet  .  .  ."  There  was  a 
second's  pause,  and  Cathy  heard  low  moaning  close  to  her, 
without  realising  that  she  was  herself  making  the  sound, 
and  at  once  the  voice  clamoured  afresh.  "No,  do  shut  up. 
I'll  tell  you,  straight,  it's  the  most  stupid  book  you  ever 
read  in  all  your  life  ...  I  told  you  that  day  I  would 
promise  you  everything" — to  what  far  away  day  of  sanity 
did  the  words  refer?  Closed  now  for  ever,  and  wiped  out, 
except  for  this  fleeting  glimpse,  distorted  and  awry.  "And 
I  did  it.  I  did  it  because  he  wanted  it  so  badly.  Frightfully 
badly.  Am  I  to  say  I  will  be  quiet  for  ever?"  She  seemed 
to  plead  out  of  a  pit  of  blackness.  "For  ever,  and  for 
everybody's  sake?"  Wild  crying  punctuated  the  flood  of 
words.  "For  everybody's  sake  in  the  house?  For  every- 
body's house?  You  wait.  Go  on,  I  don't  think  I've  done 
the  last  thing  yet.  Put  me  there  if  you  dare."  The  in- 
ference was  clear,  she  was  going  over  the  old  ground,  and 
her  imaginary  companions  were  telling  her  that  she  was 
mad.  Well,  they  at  least  had  been  kinder  than  Monica  and 
Jack,  they  had  warned  her  where  she  was  going.  "Will  you 
lay  me  down  twice?"  the  voice  shouted  in  terrified  alarm, 
and  then  spoke  angrily.  "Can't  you  stand  on  your  own 
legs,  stupid?  I'll  swear  it,  on  my  honour  to  the  last — the 
last — the  last.  On  my  honour.  Oh,  you  make  me  laugh." 

The  laugh  which  followed  made  Cathy  crouch  down 
again  and  hide  her  head  in  the  pillow,  but  nothing  she  could 
do  shut  out  the  sound.  The  voice  was  so  flexible  and  so 
dramatic,  and  it  ranged  from  high  to  low,  giving  the  most 
searching  emphasis  of  all  that  was  said  or  shouted. 

"I'll  not  tell  him  such  a  thing!  Did  I  ever  say  that  any- 
body hurt  ?  No,  I  swear  I  never  said  anything  of  the  sort. 
I  said.  .  .  .  Ah!  I  said.  .  .  .  Now  isn't  there  a  single 
woman  who  can  understand  me  ?  He  said  it  almost  with  his 


266  CATHY  ROSSITER 

dying  breath.  .  .  ."  She  lowered  her  voice  to  a  mysterious 
whisper — "She's  got  the  habit!" 

It  was  endless,  incoherent,  and  the  broken  sentences  were 
never  finished.  Unable  to  stifle  the  words,  Cathy  began  to 
think  against  the  sound,  mingled  with  other  maniacal  cry- 
ing, wandering  through  the  night,  and  her  thoughts  dwelt 
upon  Monica  and  Lorrimer.  They  had  betrayed  her  into 
this  awful  captivity,  and  could  they  really  know,  even 
dimly,  what  it  was  like.  Her  hands  were  dry  and  burning, 
and  she  felt  as  though  some  illness  was  coming  upon  her, 
and  that  thought,  too,  added  to  her  distress.  To  be  ill  in 
such  a  place  was  like  a  nightmare  of  devils.  She  had  once 
slept  in  a  room  in  the  house  of  a  friend  which  had  affected 
her  hatefully.  There  was  something  horrid  in  it  which  she 
had  not  understood.  She  felt  as  though  there  were  spiders 
and  rats  and  dead  men's  bones  hidden  there.  .  .  .  God! 
was  she  already  beginning  to  think  like  the  woman  who 
never  once  ceased  to  shout  and  cry?  Now  she  would 
never  be  able  to  leave,  never  again,  perhaps ;  for  if  they  had 
put  her  there  at  all,  why  should  they  let  her  out?  Monica 
loved  Jack,  and  he  had  raged  at  his  wife — she  was  his  wife ! 
— because  he  hated  her. 

Cathy  saw  him  again  vividly  in  the  dark,  and  heard  his 
angry  voice  accusing  her.  He  had  said  that  she  had  done 
some  dirty  thing.  The  wheels  of  her  thoughts  hastened  to 
racing  pace,  and  she  began  to  talk  to  herself  so  that  she 
could  follow  the  direction  of  her  mind,  and  then,  quite  sud- 
denly, she  exercised  a  fierce  effort  of  control  and  held  her 
hands  over  her  mouth.  "Let  me  not  be  mad,  not  mad,  sweet 
Heaven,"  she  gasped  the  words  which  floated  to  her  from 
some  still  place  in  her  fevered  brain.  They  wanted  her  to 
be  mad,  to  gape  and  grimace  with  the  wretched  lunatics 
who  had  accepted  the  "Holiday  of  the  Beast."  Someone 
had  described  war  by  that  strong,  expressive  term,  and  war 
was  in  itself  like  madness.  There  were  so  many  other 
memories  which  joined  and  leagued  with  the  terrors.  The 
memory  of  a  trapped  rat — a  thing  she  had  tried  to  forget. 
She  was  like  that  herself,  and,  as  she  thought  of  it  with 
shuddering,  her  imagination  showed  her  her  own  face  on 


CATHY  ROSSITER  267 

the  lacerated,  struggling  body.  No,  she  must  never  think 
like  this;  it  was  to  give  in  and  to  leave  the  way  easy  for 
them.  .  .  .  She  knew  she  must  think  of  something  that  she 
had  partly  forgotten,  must  make  a  definite  effort  of  memory. 

The  pain  of  thought  was  unendurable,  but  she  was  not 
angry;  she  felt  sure  that  she  was  not  angry.  Was  there 
any  hope  or  peace  in  such  a  condition  as  hers?  If  she 
prayed,  would  God  listen?  The  woman  still  continued  her 
never-ending  monologue. 

It  seemed  to  Cathy  that  the  force  of  her  own  terror  was 
modulating  slightly,  and  that  the  waves  of  fire  beat  less 
furiously  upon  her  heart.  Courage,  courage,  nothing  else 
mattered.  She  must  not  let  herself  be  afraid  of  the  mad 
people,  and,  far  more  than  that,  she  must  not  be  afraid  of 
herself.  I  am  Cathy  Rossiter,  she  thought  carefully,  and 
I  am  in  no  way  different  to  what  I  ever  was.  Being  here  is 
some  awful  test  put  upon  me  which  I  have  to  bear.  Jack 
and  Monica  have  done  this  to  me,  but  no  one  can  do  any- 
thing to  me  really.  I  am  myself  and  there  is  really  no 
wall  between  me  and  the  mercy  of  God.  All  this  must  be 
endured — and  as  it  has  come  to  me,  I  shall  have  to  bear  it. 

The  voice  was  raging  again.  "I  never  said  her  father. 
If  you  say  I  did,  you  lie.  No,  there  are  no  leaves  at  all 
on  the  trees.  I  can  see  perfectly  well.  Everything  is  alike. 
If  they  say  that  there  is  any  difference,  they  are  humbug- 
ging you,  fooling  you.  Don't  believe  them — No,  no,  no " 

And  then,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  her  mood  changed, 
and  she  began  to  sing.  She  had  a  very  beautiful  voice, 
well  trained,  and  with  a  magnificent  range  and  power,  and 
she  began  to  sing,  "Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  Glory,"  the 
great  battle  hymn  of  the  American  Republic,  with  its  swing- 
ing, marching  rhythm. 

Cathy  sat  transfixed,  clasping  her  shaking  body  with  her 
arms,  and  the  voice  soared  up  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy.  The 
mad  woman  was  evoking  new  powers,  and  they  came  at 
her  bidding,  turning  the  asylum  into  a  clean  place,  and 
robbing  death  in  life  of  its  victory.  Even  passion  had  been 
cast  aside  in  this  moment ;  Cathy's  own  soul  was  lifted  as 
though  light  had  come  to  her,  and  she  lay  back  listening  en- 


268  CATHY  ROSSITER 

tranced  to  the  voice  that  had  before  added  so  unspeakably 
to  the  misery  of  the  conditions. 

"He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call  retreat, 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  His  Judgment  seat. 
O,  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him,  be  jubilant,  my  feet, 
Our  God  is  marching  on." 

Thus  it  was  that  brave  men  went  out  to  meet  the  "Holiday 
of  the  Beast,"  and  thus  it  was  that  even  the  wretched,  duped 
prisoner  in  a  house  of  pain  might  rise  to  meet  the  sentence 
passed  upon  her. 

The  voice  was  very  soft  now,  singing  as  though  to  croon 
a  child  to  sleep,  and  Cathy  could  hardly  catch  the  words : 

"In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies,  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea 
With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me." 

Soft  as  the  gentle  touch  of  dawn,  the  music  flowed  from 
the  cell,  and  whispered  in  Cathy's  listening  ears: 

"As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  set  men  free 
While  God  is  marching  on." 

When  she  had  ceased,  complete  silence  followed.  The 
wild  paroxysm,  so  strangely  ended,  was  spent,  and  Cathy, 
who  was  worn  out  and  at  the  end  of  her  own  physical  re- 
sources, fell  back  on  her  poor  pillow,  and  lay  there  quietly. 
Victory  had  come,  the  first  great  victory  of  the  spirit. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

As  the  weeks  dragged  into  months,  and  nothing  further 
was  heard  of  Cathy,  Robert  Amyas  grew  more  and  more 
uneasy  about  her.  Lady  Carstairs  had  submitted  to  Monica 
Henstock's  verdict,  and  was  doing  nothing  further;  she 
had  also  been  alarmed  by  Lorrimer's  bullying  outburst,  and 
she  had  feared  to  make  some  indefinite  trouble  between  him 
and  Cathy. 

Everything  ended  in  a  cul  de  sac,  and  meantime  the  weeks 
were  passing  and  nothing  further  was  known  of  Lorrimer's 
wife.  Lilian  was  dissatisfied,  but  she,  too,  had  admitted 
the  hopeless  impossibility  of  forcing  either  Jack  or  Monica 
to  speak.  People  were  leaving  London,  and  the  season  was 
wearing  to  its  close,  but  Amyas  gave  up  any  idea  of  going 
away.  He  was  too  restless  and  wretched,  and  he  was 
haunted  by  the  idea  that  Cathy  might  suddenly  call  upon 
him  in  some  way;  ring  him  up,  write  or  telegraph,  and  if 
she  did,  she  must  not  be  disappointed.  But  Cathy  was  mute 
as  the  dead,  and,  wherever  she  was,  she  did  nothing  at  all 
to  let  her  friends  know.  It  was  during  the  first  week  in 
August,  when  the  weather  had  become  suddenly  stifling  and 
sultry,  that  Amyas  decided  to  go  down  to  Kew  Gardens  and 
pretend  that  he  was  in  the  country.  He  always  loved  Kew, 
and  there  was  a  wild  corner  where  he  could  sit  on  the  grass 
and  think.  He  was  under  a  perpetual  obligation  to  think, 
these  days,  and  his  thoughts  never  varied. 

He  walked  across  the  bridge,  and  was  slowly  coming  to 
the  great  gates,  when  he  noticed  a  figure  in  the  crowd  of 
people  all  drifting  in  the  same  direction;  someone  whom 
he  vaguely  remembered.  She  bobbed  up  and  down,  a  few 
yards  in  advance  of  him,  and  Amyas  had  a  good  memory 
for  the  way  in  which  people  walked.  Where  was  it  that 
he  had  seen  that  small,  insignificant  creature,  who  was  so 

269 


270  CATHY  ROSSITER 

like  everyone  else?  And  then,  in  a  flash,  he  recalled  her. 
It  was  the  ex-governess  who  had  created  a  scandal.  What 
else  did  he  recall  about  her?  He  thought  for  a  moment. 
Lorrimer  had  befriended  her,  and  she  had  been  devoted  to 
Cathy ;  she  was  living  at  Kingslade,  and  it  was  she  who  had 
been  in  charge  of  Cathy — Lady  Carstairs  had  it  straight 
from  Doctor  Henstock — when  she  broke  bounds.  His  pulses 
quickened  perceptibly,  and  he  hurried  on.  Here  was  a  liv- 
ing witness  of  some,  at  least,  of  the  secret  drama,  simple 
or  sinister,  which  had  been  enacted  at  Kingslade,  and,  catch- 
ing up  with  Batten,  he  lifted  his  hat. 

"I  am  Amyas,"  he  said,  "a  friend  of  Miss  Rossiter's,  and 
I  am  sure  I  recognise  you,  Miss ?" 

"Batten,"  the  girl  said,  blushing  furiously,  and  looking 
at  him  with  startled  eyes.  "I  remember  Mrs.  Lorrimer 
speaking  of  you  often — very  often." 

Then  there  was  balm  in  Gilead.  Cathy  had  not  quite 
forgotten  all  her  old  friends. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  have  met  you  like  this,"  he  said 
simply,  "and,  if  you  are  not  busy,  won't  you  come  and 
have  tea  with  me  somewhere?  I  want  to  talk  about  her. 
It's  a  long  time  since  I  saw  her,  and  now  she  has  gone 
away." 

"Oh!  I  did  not  know,"  Miss  Batten  said,  starting  vio- 
lently. 

How  jumpy  the  poor  girl  was,  he  thought.  She  had  evi- 
dently never  recovered  from  her  debacle.  Amyas  walked 
along  beside  her.  Jumpy  or  not  jumpy,  he  was  not  going 
to  let  her  go.  She  was  Lorrimer's  secretary,  and  she,  at 
least,  would  have  some  idea  of  where  they  had  hidden 
Cathy.  If  he  had  to  bully  her,  buy  her,  or  use  force,  if 
persuasion  was  not  sufficient,  he  would  have  it  out  of  Miss 
Batten. 

"Are  you  going  back  to  Kingslade  to-night  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh  no,  I  am  not.  I  am  never  going  back,"  she  said,  in 
the  same  nervous  way. 

Amyas  made  no  reply.  He  was  intensely  astonished  and 
also  direly  disappointed,  but  he  wished  Miss  Batten  not  to 
feel  more  alarmed  than  was  absolutely  necessary.  Even  if 


CATHY  ROSSITER  271 

she  was  no  longer  at  Kingslade  she  would  know  a  great 
deal,  if  she  trusted  him  enough  to  speak  at  all  frankly. 

"Here  is  a  tea  place,"  he  said,  indicating  a  house  in  the 
old  crescent,  and  opening  the  gate.  "You  did  say  you 
would  come  and  have  tea.  I  am  rather  a  lonely  person." 

"I  live  at  Richmond,"  Miss  Batten  explained  as  she 
obeyed  him  without  any  show  of  enthusiasm,  "and  I  am  on 
my  way  there.  I  have  to  leave  a  parcel  at  a  shop,  that 
was  what  took  me  to  Kew." 

Amyas  led  her  through  a  narrow  passage  into  a  garden, 
divided  up  by  screens  of  wooden  trellis  covered  with  creep- 
ers. He  was  determined  not  to  rush  Miss  Batten.  She  was 
just  as  likely  as  not  to  get  up  and  run  off  unless  you  an- 
chored her  to  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  wedge  of  cake.  Once  that 
was  done,  she  would  stay  where  she  was,  but  he  felt  he 
must  walk  delicately  and  not  alarm  her.  He  ordered  tea, 
and  while  they  waited,  he  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Then  you  are  working  for  Colonel  Lorrimer  in  London, 
now?" 

She  fiddled  with  the  string  of  the  parcel  and  appeared 
distressed. 

"I  am  not,  Mr.  Amyas.  Did  you  not  know  that  I  left 
Kingslade?  I  am  afraid  I  left  in  disgrace."  She  gave  a 
bird-like  glance  at  him,  penitent  and  shy,  and  he  folded  his 
arms  on  the  small  table. 

"I  heard  very  little.  Miss  Batten,  I  shall  speak  quite 
openly  to  you,  because,  unless  I  do,  it's  no  use  my  talking 
at  all.  Tell  me  anything  you  can  about  Miss  Rossiter.  I 
am  honestly  worried  and  wretched  about  her." 

"I  don't  know."  Miss  Batten  broke  off  as  the  waiter 
came  back  with  a  tray  and  put  it  on  the  table  before  her. 
When  he  had  gone,  she  took  up  the  broken  thread.  "I  feel 
that  I  ought  not  to  say  anything.  Colonel  Lorrimer  was 
led  and  deceived ;  I  know  it  could  never  have  been  his  fault." 
Her  voice  grew  incoherent,  and  she  seemed  as  though  she 
might  begin  to  cry. 

"Miss  Rossiter  had  been  ill  for  a  long  time,"  Amyas  said, 
capturing  the  teapot,  as  Miss  Batten  made  no  effort  to  deal 


272  CATHY  ROSSITER 

with  the  crowded  tray.  "I  told  you  that  I  was  anxious 
about  her.  Will  you  tell  me  where  she  is  ?" 

"At  Kingslade,"  Batkins  said  decidedly.  "I  left  there 
in  a  hurry,  and  I  was  not  allowed  to  see  her.  Flora,  one  of 
the  housemaids,  brought  me  a  message,  but  Doctor  Hen- 
stock  met  me  in  the  corridor  and  would  not  let  me  go  into 
Mrs.  Lorrimer's  room.  I  was  dreadfully  unhappy,  both  at 
having  to  leave  and  because  I  could  not  see  her."  She 
drank  from  the  thick,  white  cup,  and  her  hands  shook 
nervously. 

"Will  you  let  me  ask  you  why  you  left?"  Amyas  said. 

"I  was  in  charge  of  Miss  Rossiter,"  Miss  Batten  said, 
relapsing  into  the  more  familiar  form  of  Cathy's  name. 
"We  sat  together  talking.  Oh,  how  well  I  remember  it,  for 
it  was  the  last  happy  day  I  had.  Major  Barlow  came  under 
the  window,  and  she  wanted  to  talk  to  him.  It  was  my  duty 
to  prevent  her,  but  you  know  her  way ;  she  only  laughed  at 

me,  and  we  began  to "  she  searched  for  a  suitable  word 

— "well — to  rag,  I  suppose;  and  she  pulled  me  out  of  the 
way.  It  was  only  fun,  and  we  both  enjoyed  it — really  we 
did,  Mr.  Amyas." 

"Yes,"  Amyas  said,  helping  himself  to  a  slab  of  bread 
and  butter,  "I  understand." 

"I  never  dreamed  of  trouble,"  she  was  speaking  with 
feverish  earnestness.  "She  was  only  gone  a  few  minutes, 
and  it  did  not  do  her  any  harm.  I  am  sure  that  for  anyone 
like  Miss  Rossiter  to  be  shut  up  in  a  room  and  never  let 
out,  is  worse  than  an  illness.  Of  course  Doctor  Henstock 
knew  what  was  best,  but  it  was  very  hard  on  dear  Miss 
Rossiter." 

"Then  tell  me  what  happened  afterwards,"  Amyas  said 
thoughtfully.  He  felt  that  he  was  coming  upon  some  fact 
which  was  going  to  corroborate  his  own  instinctive  belief 
that  Cathy  was  the  victim  of  a  plot. 

"Nurse  Binns,  the  nurse  in  charge,  a  hateful  woman, 
came  and  made  herself  dreadfully  disagreeable,  and  Miss 
Rossiter  locked  her  out.  I  ought  to  have  told  you  that 
Colonel  Lorrimer  and  Doctor  Henstock  had  gone  up  to 


CATHY  ROSSITER  273 

London,  and  were  dining  there.  They  came  back  late,  and 
Nurse  Binns  was  waiting  for  them." 

Amyas  gave  up  the  pretence  of  eating,  and  lighted  a  cigar- 
ette. "She  made  trouble,  I  take  it?" 

"She  did,"  Miss  Batten  nodded  emphatically.  "I  was 
sent  for,  when  Nurse  Binns  had  had  her  innings,  Mr. 
Amyas,  and  Doctor  Henstock  cross-questioned  me.  She  put 
everything  wrong." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  she  made  out  a  kind  of  case.  Whatever  I 
said,  she  turned  it  round  and  made  it  look  as  though  I  was 
lying  and  hiding  the  facts."  Miss  Batten's  mild  eyes  grew 
angry.  "She  is  absolutely  false,  and  I  suppose  she  thought 
I  did  not  see  her  real  motive." 

"Doctor  Henstock  is  something  of  a  diplomatist  ?"  Amyas 
said  lightly.  He  was  feeling  intensely  excited,  but  he  be- 
trayed nothing  in  either  voice  or  look.  Miss  Batten  was 
growing  less  and  less  reserved,  and  he  watched  her  with 
interested  eyes. 

"I  hardly  dare  say  it,  even  to  you,"  Batkins  said,  lower- 
ing her  voice  to  a  discreet  whisper.  "But  I  guessed,  long 
ago,  before  Colonel  Lorrimer  married  Miss  Rossiter,  that 
Doctor  Henstock  wanted  him  for  herself.  She  never  liked 
me,  and  I  was  her  secretary  for  some  months.  During  that 
time  I  learnt  what  a  cruel,  calculating  woman  she  really  is. 
The  marriage  was  a  blow  to  her,  Mr.  Amyas,  and  she  never 
forgives." 

"Miss  Rossiter  had  no  idea  of  all  this?" 

"Not  a  shadow.  She  believes  in  everyone,  and  she 
thought  Doctor  Henstock  her  best  friend.  I  was  telling 
you  that  they  sent  for  me,  and,  when  I  got  into  the  room, 
Colonel  Lorrimer  looked  fearfully  upset  and  did  not  speak. 
In  fact,  he  spoke  very  little  all  the  time.  I  am  so  sorry  for 

him "  She  blew  her  nose  violently.  "After  Doctor 

Henstock  had  tried  to  prove  that  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  unfit 
to  be  left  in  my  charge — or  at  least,  that  I  was  not  fit  to 
take  care  of  her,  I  was  leaving  the  room  and  she  caught 
sight  of  my  wrists.  I  bruise  at  a  touch,"  she  held  out  her 
thin  arms  to  him  and  showed  him  some  faint  marks. 


274  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"That  is  from  the  buckle  of  my  wrist  watch,  and  this,  from 
a  knock  I  gave  myself  opening  a  window.  You  see  how 
little  it  takes  to  mark  me." 

Amyas  studied  the  bruises  and  nodded  silently,  as  Miss 
Batten  went  on. 

"I  had  marks,  but  then,  I  have  them  every  day  of  my 
life;  Doctor  Henstock  showed  them  to  Colonel  Lorrimer 
and  I  know  that  he  thought  something  awful  had  happened." 

"But  you  explained,  I  suppose  ?    You  told  him  the  truth  ?" 

Miss  Batten  moved  uncomfortably  in  her  chair. 

"Please  tell  me  the  whole  of  it,"  he  urged,  and  she 
fumbled  again  with  the  parcel  on  her  knees. 

"I  have  to  wander  a  great  deal  from  the  point,"  she  said, 
"and,  also,  I  may  seem  to  be  saying  things  against  Colonel 
Lorrimer.  I  wouldn't  do  that  for  worlds." 

"You  need  not  think  I  will  misunderstand  him,"  Amyas 
said,  with  a  twist  of  his  mouth ;  "you  have  nothing  to  fear 
as  to  that.  I  know  what  I  think  of  him." 

Miss  Batten  smiled,  and  appeared  reassured. 

"Ever  since  Doctor  Henstock's  arrival  at  Kingslade,  she 
had  been — I  hardly  like  to  say  it — but  I  do  believe  that  she 
had  been  tempting  him." 

Her  choice  of  expression  sounded  so  quaint  to  Amyas, 
that  he  smiled  in  spite  of  himself.  The  idea  of  Monica 
dangling  like  the  forbidden  fruit  before  the  eyes  of  Lorri- 
mer, was  humorous  to  a  degree. 

"She  thought  he  would  have  married  her,  and  I  may  be 
saying  something  very  wrong,  but  I  know  that  she  began  to 
make  him  admire  her  very  much."  Again  Miss  Batten 
paused,  and  seemed  to  struggle  with  her  memories. 

"All  the  truth,"  Amyas  said,  touching  her  arm  with  his 
hand.  "Out  with  it." 

"I  never  spied  on  them,"  she  recoiled  nervously.  "Don't 
credit  me  with  such  baseness;  but  I  used  to  sit  in  the  big 
conservatory  in  the  evenings,  when  it  was  dinner  time,  and 
I  left  a  book  there  one  evening,  just  before  all  this  hap- 
pened. It  was  a  very  interesting  book  called  'The  Chink 
in  the  Armour,'  and  I  felt  I  could  not  sleep  without  know- 
ing how  it  ended.  That  was  what  brought  me  back  there 


CATHY  ROSSITER  275 

quite  late.  Usually,"  she  explained,  with  her  eager  breath- 
lessness  accentuated  at  every  word,  "no  one  came  there, 
and  I  found  the  door  open  and  went  in.  I  knew  that  I  had 
no  right  to  have  come — no  right  to  have  seen  what  I  did 
see,"  she  turned  her  head  away. 

"And  what  did  you  see?"  he  asked. 

"He  was  holding  her  in  his  arms,  and  her  face  was  lifted 
to  his — oh,  the  treachery  of  that  woman,  Mr.  Amyas !  How 
could  she  treat  her  friend  so,  and  poor  Colonel  Lorri- 
mer " 

"Might  have  had  some  scruples  himself,  I  should  have 
thought,"  Amyas  interposed  drily. 

"No,  you  can't  blame  him,"  Miss  Batten  was  on  the  of- 
fensive at  once.  "She  had  been  following  him  day  in  and 
day  out,  and  all  the  time  she  was  calling  Miss  Rossiter  'darl- 
ing/ and  making  this  fuss  about  her  health." 

"Then  you  knew  pretty  well  what  to  expect?"  Amyas 
asked. 

"I  knew  that  when  she  showed  him  my  wrists,  she  was 
really  trying  to  make  him  believe  that  Miss  Rossiter  wasn't 
herself,  and  that  she  got  queer  attacks,  either  that  or — I 
hardly  like  to  speak  it — she  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Barlow  so 
much  that  she  had  used  force." 

"But  he  could  not  have  believed  it,"  Amyas  waved  his 
hand.  "Impossible,  Miss  Batten,  unless  he  wished  to." 

"Nurse  Binns  had  been  saying  in  the  servants'  hall  that 
Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  as  mad  as  a  bee,"  Batkins  said ;  "I  know 
that,  for  it  was  repeated  to  me.  I  don't  think  that  Doctor 
Henstock  agreed  with  her,  but  by  that  time  I  believed 
nothing  she  seemed  to  be  doing.  She  was  deep,  and  kept 
her  ideas  to  herself." 

Amyas  thought  for  a  moment.  The  story  was  far  worse 
than  what  he  had  expected,  and  he  felt  an  increasing  anx- 
iety to  know  further  particulars.  Miss  Batten  was  speak- 
ing again ;  her  face  wan  and  distressed,  and  her  sandy  hair 
hanging  like  whiskers  on  either  side  of  her  thin  cheeks. 
She  told  him  that  she  had  gained  courage  at  the  last  and 
had  spoken  to  Colonel  Lorrimer,  begging  him  to  listen  to 
nothing  that  anyone  said  but  to  go  to  Cathy  and  get  the 


276  CATHY  ROSSITER 

whole  substance  of  the  story  direct  from  her.  In  the 
morning  she  had  been  given  a  note;  quite  a  kind  letter,  en- 
closing a  substantial  cheque,  in  which  Colonel  Lorrimer  in- 
formed her  that  he  wished  her  to  leave  Kingslade  at  once. 
He  made  no  reference  to  the  scene  of  the  previous  night, 
and  she  was  helpless  before  a  clear  dismissal.  While  she 
was  packing,  she  was  brought  the  message  by  Flora,  who 
said  that  "something  was  up"  about  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  and 
that  she  had  overheard  Doctor  Henstock  telling  Colonel 
Lorrimer  that  she  was  'phoning  to  some  doctor  in  London. 

"There  was  no  talk  of  Miss  Rossiter  leaving  when  I  went 
away,"  Miss  Batten  said  sadly,  ending  her  recital  dismally. 
"I  wrote  to  her,  but  she  did  not  answer,  and  I  thought  it 
likely  the  letter  was  destroyed.  Where  is  she?  please  tell 
me  that,  Mr.  Amyas.  I  lie  awake  at  night,  thinking  of  her 
so  cut  off  and  friendless.  Doctor  Henstock  had  got  be- 
tween her  and  all  her  old  friends  and  would  not  hear  of 
her  seeing  any  of  them,  and  she  had  made  ill-feeling  be- 
tween her  and  the  Colonel.  He  had  changed  completely, 
and  he  was  often  in  a  temper  with  everyone.  Only  Major 
Hammersly  and  Doctor  Henstock  could  manage  him,  and 
they  played  on  his  feelings." 

"Who  is  Hammersly?"  Amyas  said,  resting  his  chin  on 
his  hands.  "Tell  me  anything  you  can  of  him." 

"Well,  he  is  a  big  man  in  those  parts,"  Miss  Batten  said, 
pushing  her  cup  away.  "A  J.P.  and  a  landowner.  Nothing 
like  so  big  as  Colonel  Lorrimer,  but  of  importance.  I  heard 
from  the  housekeeper  that  he  isn't  liked  over  well,  but  he 
gained  great  influence  over  the  Colonel;  they  were  always 
together,  and  Miss  Rossiter  called  him  'Beelzebub  Junior.' 
She  said  he  ought  to  go  about  with  a  swarm  of  flies  round 
his  head,  and  she  would  hardly  speak  to  him.  I  think  that 
this  made  a  great  deal  of  trouble  as  well  as  all  the  rest." 
She  sighed,  and  her  tired  face  looked  pinched  and  anxious. 

Amyas  said  nothing;  he  was  thinking  carefully  of  what 
he  had  been  told.  At  last  he  spoke  again. 

"None  of  us  know  where  she  is  now,"  he  said,  and  Miss 
Batten  started  in  alarmed  surprise;  "not  even  Lady  Car- 
stairs.  When  you  left  Kingslade,  about  a  day  or  two  later, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  277 

Miss  Rossiter  was  taken  away  to  a  nursing  home,  and  since 
then  there  has  been  absolute  silence." 

"But  Doctor  Henstock  knows — and  the  Colonel." 

"Neither  of  them  will  say."  He  leaned  forward  on  his 
arm  and  spoke  very  earnestly.  "This  does  not  satisfy  me, 
Miss  Batten,  and  I  want  to  ask  you  to  help  me  to  find  her." 

"If  I  can.  But  how  can  I  ?  I  passed  the  Colonel  in  the 
street  one  day,  and,  though  he  saw  me,  he  walked  on  and 

took  no  notice "  her  voice  quavered  painfully;  "and 

Doctor  Henstock  hates  me.  She  never  liked  me,  and  having 
me  at  her  house  was  only  one  of  her  traps.  She  did  it  to 
please  Colonel  Lorrimer.  How  could  I  find  out  ?  Oh  dear, 
oh  dear,"  she  wrung  her  poor,  weak  hands  desperately,  "to 
think  of  Miss  Rossiter  away  from  everyone.  She  won't 
be  able  to  bear  it,  1  know  she  won't." 

"You  know  the  servants  at  Kingslade,"  Amyas  said,  "and 
some  of  them  may  be  there  still.  What  sort  of  man  is  the 
chauffeur?  He  may  have  some  knowledge  of  where  they 
all  went.  Could  you  not  go  down  there — I'll  take  you 
myself  and  wait  for  you — and  see  if  there  is  anything  to 
be  learnt?  I  must  go,  in  any  case,  to  see  a  man  called 
Luke." 

"The  doctor?  Such  a  dreadful  person.  But  he  only 
came  the  day  Miss  Rossiter  nearly  died."  Batkins  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands  at  the  memory.  "I  don't  recall  that 
he  ever  again  came  into  the  house." 

"Yes  he  did,"  Amyas  said.  "He  was  called  in  for  a  con- 
sultation of  some  blackguardly  kind,  and  he  has  got  to 
answer  for  it." 

"If  I  can  be  of  any  use,  and  not  appear  to  be  going  against 
the  Colonel,"  she  said,  agreeing  limply.  "I  can  get  to-mor- 
row afternoon  off." 

Amyas  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  still  early  in  the 
afternoon,  and  time  had  suddenly  become  of  huge  value. 

"We  will  go  now,"  he  said.  "There  is  a  garage  round  the 
corner,  and  I  can  get  a  car  to  run  us  down.  You  will  be 
back  in  plenty  of  time." 

He  threw  tact  to  the  winds,  and  began  to  hustle  Miss 
Batten  with  relentless  haste.  What  she  had  told  him  had 


278  CATHY  ROSSITER 

filled  his  mind  with  real  alarm.  Monica  and  Lorrimer  were 
leagued  for  very  obvious  reasons.  Their  ugly,  unromantic 
love  story  was  taking  a  course  which  threatened  Cathy,  and 
months  had  already  gone  by.  Presently,  when  he  had  done 
what  he  could  to  find  out  where  Cathy  was,  down  at  Kings- 
lade,  he  intended  to  make  inquiries  about  Monica  and  Lorri- 
mer. For  their  peace  of  mind,  Cathy  had  been  walled  up 
in  impenetrable  silence ;  and  where  had  they  thought  fit  to 
place  her?  Cathy,  who  lived  only  in  liberty.  He  was  almost 
as  jumpy  as  Miss  Batten  herself  before  the  car  started,  and 
during  the  journey  neither  of  them  spoke. 

It  took  some  time  to  find  the  battered  lodgings  where 
Doctor  Luke  lived,  and  Robert  sent  Miss  Batten  onwards 
to  Kingslade  Park  in  the  car,  arranging  to  meet  her  in  an 
hour  at  the  gates. 

The  lodgings  Doctor  Luke  occupied  were  over  a  public- 
house,  but  the  barman  knew  nothing  of  his  late  lodger.  All 
he  could  tell  Amyas  was,  that,  through  the  influence  of 
Major  Hammersly,  Luke  had  got  a  wholly  unexpected  job 
as  a  ship's  doctor,  and  had  packed  his  bag  and  disappeared. 
He  left  no  address,  as  he  never  received  letters,  only  bills, 
which  he  did  not  want,  and  the  barman,  who  was  tempera- 
mentally inquisitive,  thought  that  Amyas  was  up  to  some- 
thing, if  he  wanted  Doctor  Luke  at  all. 

"He  wasn't  a  doctor  for  class  cases,"  he  remarked;  "not 
by  any  means,  sir.  We  were  all  surprised  when  he  was 
sent  for  to  Kingslade  Park.  Besides,  he  hadn't  even  voted 
for  Lorrimer  at  the  elections.  He  was  a  seedy  chap,  Luke, 
and  it  all  seemed  a  bit  on  the  queer  side." 

Robert  was  aware  that  the  barman  would  have  talked  for 
any  length  of  time,  but  there  was  little  to  be  gained  by 
continuing  the  conversation,  and  at  last  he  turned  away. 
Luke  had  gone,  it  was  true,  but  why  had  Hammersly  in- 
terested himself  in  the  scallywag  doctor?  It  had  been 
worth  his  while  to  make  interest  for  the  scoundrel,  so  that 
he  should  be  out  of  the  place,  and  Amyas  thought  of  the 
conversation  he  had  overheard,  and  the  evident  remorse  of 
the  creature.  How  dark  and  dirty  it  was  all  becoming  under 
the  costly  and  specious  exterior.  What  had  they  done  with 


CATHY  ROSSITER  279 

Cathy,  this  relentless  crew?  Where  was  she  now,  eating 
her  heart  out  in  some  unknown  place?  It  maddened  him 
to  think  of  it,  and  he  walked  quickly  to  the  gates  of  Kings- 
lade  Park.  The  car  was  still  waiting,  and  Miss  Batten  had 
not  returned.  Getting  in,  he  sat  down  and  began  to  think. 
Heretofore  he  had  only  been  unhappy,  and  now  he  was 
honestly  alarmed.  What  had  been  a  motiveless  and  un- 
accountable action  on  the  part  of  Lorrimer,  began  to  take 
definite  shape.  If  you  got  hold  of  a  reason  why  Cathy 
should  be  put  quietly  out  of  the  picture,  it  made  a  big  differ- 
ence to  the  whole  case.  From  Miss  Batten  he  had  learnt 
that  Doctor  Henstock  had  the  strongest  motive  known  to 
woman  for  her  part  in  the  play,  and,  if  so,  Lorrimer  also 
had  a  sufficient  reason  for  seeking  to  be  rid  of  his  wife. 
They  wanted  to  feel  safe,  for  Lorrimer  was  a  "rising  man." 
Hammersly  had  an  axe  to  grind,  and  was  a  person  of  local 
importance,  and  Doctor  Luke  was  only  a  shady  trader  in 
illicit  drugs,  possibly  worse — in  any  event,  a  man  who  had 
to  be  got  out  of  the  way.  All  this  was  as  clear  as  daylight, 
but  it  did  not  yet  explain  the  mystery.  So  far  as  Amyas 
knew,  if  it  was  necessary  to  put  Cathy  in  a  nursing  home, 
there  was  no  reason  for  so  much  intrigue.  She  might  have 
been  taken  there  on  any  pretext,  and  Monica's  advice  had 
been  that  she  should  go.  Why,  then,  all  this  intricate  and 
complex  business  with  Luke? 

He  could  make  nothing  of  it,  and  sat  with  his  hat  over 
his  eyes  watching  the  avenue  for  the  return  of  Miss  Batten. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

SHE  came  at  last,  with  her  light,  hopping  walk  hurried 
almost  to  a  run,  and  Robert  opened  the  door  of  the  car  for 
her. 

"I  have  been  a  long  time,"  she  said  apologetically,  "but 
it  took  ages  to  find  anyone.  They  are  all  gone,  except  the 
Scotch  gardener,  and  one  or  two  of  the  stable  men." 

"Then,  the  chauffeur  isn't  there?"  Amyas  was  keenly 
disappointed. 

"We  can  do  nothing  by  staying  here,"  Miss  Batten  said, 
"but  I  did  find  out  something  which  I  will  tell  you." 

He  leaned  forward  and  directed  the  driver  to  take  them 
back  to  London. 

"Well?"  he  asked  impatiently,  "What  did  you  hear?" 

Miss  Batten  looked  at  him  sidewaySj  and  her  mouth 
trembled. 

"It  isn't  first-hand,"  she  said  with  a  touch  of  caution. 
"I  have  been  saying  this  over  and  over  again  to  myself. 
To  bring  such  a  grave  charge  against  the  Colonel " 

"For  God's  sake  say  what  you  have  heard.  I  don't  want 
to  seem  unfriendly,  Miss  Batten,  but  I  have  been  waiting 
over  an  hour,  and  waiting  is  always  demoralising." 

"I  will  tell  you  just  what  happened,"  she  said,  in  no  way 
resenting  his  slight  heat  of  manner.  "The  house  was  closed 
and  there  was  no  one  there,  so  I  went  into  the  garden  and 
found  McGregor  in  the  grape-house.  He  is  a  nice,  kind 
man,  Mr.  Amyas,  very  superior  indeed.  I  asked  him 
for  news  of  the  family,  and  he  told  me  that  he  knew  noth- 
ing. Major  Hammersly  goes  there  every  few  days  to  look 
around,  and  McGregor  said  that  he  appeared  to  be  more 
master  than  the  Colonel  himself.  Of  Mrs.  Lorrimer  he 
knew  nothing." 

"Don't  call  her  by  that  name,"  Robert  said  suddenly. 

280 


CATHY  ROSSITER  28 r 

"She  was  Miss  Rossiter  to  both  of  us  first.  We  can  drop 
that  fiction  by  this  time  and  continue  to  call  her  Miss 
Rossiter." 

"I  told  McGregor,"  Miss  Batten  resumed,  "that  I  was 
anxious  to  write  to  her  or  to  hear  news  of  her,  and  that, 
as  he  probably  knew,  I  had  been  sent  away  in  disgrace." 
She  got  out  her  crumpled  pocket-handkerchief  and  put  it 
to  her  pale  eyes.  "I  can't  say  how  kindly  McGregor  spoke. 
He  is  one  of  nature's  gentlemen,  Mr.  Amyas,  and  he  showed 
it.  He  asked  me  to  come,  to  the  garden  house,  where  his 
wife  lives,  and  sit  down;  there  had  been  a  great  deal  of 
talk,  and  he  never  repeated  things  himself.  He  said  that 
he  never  mixed  himself  up  in  other  folks'  business.  What 
was  being  said  had  nothing  to  do  with  him." 

Amyas  possessed  his  soul  in  patience  and  listened.  Miss 
Batten  wandered  in  her  talk  and  was  unnecessarily  prolific 
as  to  detail;  he  submitted  to  the  inevitable.  Miss  Batten 
had  followed  the  worthy  gardener  to  his  house,  and  there 
she  had  found  Mrs.  McGregor  talking  to  Mattingly,  the 
head  groom,  who  was  still  in  charge  of  the  stables.  As 
soon  as  she  had  spoken  of  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  Mattingly  be- 
came communicative,  and  repeated  a  very  strange  story 
told  him  by  Jakes. 

If  there  had  been  some  vague  scandal  in  the  servants' 
quarters,  relating  to  Cathy  and  the  amazing  George  Bar- 
low, it  was  almost  forgotten  in  the  later  and  far  more 
dramatic  events  which  followed.  Jakes  had  been  told  to 
drive  to  Welldon  Grange,  which  was  situated  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village  of  High  Stanford,  fifteen  miles  at  least 
from  Kingslade.  He  was  a  stranger  to  those  parts,  and 
had  to  look  up  the  route  on  the  map  before  they  started,  and 
the  name  of  Welldon  Grange  conveyed  nothing  at  all  to 
him.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  and  Doctor  Henstock  left  Kingslade 
at  the  hour  named  by  Colonel  Lorrimer,  and  Mrs.  Lorrimer 
appeared  unusually  gay  and  happy.  She  had  luggage  with 
her,  and  so  had  Doctor  Henstock.  Following  the  roads  he 
had  marked  on  the  map,  Jakes  found  his  way  to  the  gates 
of  the  Grange,  when,  to  his  surprise,  they  opened  automati- 
cally. Mattingly  said  that  the  chauffeur  told  him  that  he 


282  CATHY  ROSSITER 

thought  it  the  queerest  thing  he  had  ever  known.  Having 
arrived  at  the  house,  Doctor  Henstock  got  out  and  was  met 
by  a  gentleman  who  appeared  to  expect  them.  Mrs.  Lorri- 
mer  had  objected  to  leaving  the  car,  and  he  heard  Doctor 
Henstock  say  that  she  would  only  have  to  wait  a  few 
minutes.  In  the  end,  she  was  persuaded  to  go  up  the  steps, 
and  had  disappeared  from  sight. 

Jakes,  left  alone  in  the  car,  had  begun  to  look  around 
him,  and  he  had  caught  sight  of  a  good  looking  nurse  at  a 
window.  He  was,  so  Mattingly  told  Miss  Batten,  "always 
a  terror  for  the  ladies,"  and  he  had  shown  his  appreciation 
of  the  nurse  by  some  means  entirely  his  own.  With  his 
usual  success  in  these  affairs,  the  nurse  had  responded, 
and  a  little  later  she  walked  out  of  the  house  and  stood 
on  the  far  side  of  the  car,  where  she  could  not  be  seen 
from  the  windows,  and  where  a  harmless  flirtation  might 
be  carried  on  undisturbed.  When  they  had  philandered 
for  a  minute  or  two,  Jakes  felt  a  desire  to  satisfy  his  curi- 
osity, and  he  asked  the  girl  what  sort  of  place  it  was,  and 
who  lived  in  it.  She  had  told  him  he  was  "a  proper  simple- 
ton." 

"Why,  it's  a  lunatic  asylum,"  she  said.  "Didn't  you 
know  that  ?  Everyone  in  there  is  mad." 

Jakes  had  stared  at  her  blankly.  He  had  left  "Moddom" 
and  Doctor  Henstock  at  a  madhouse,  and  they  were  staying 
a  long  time. 

"Was  your  lady  one  of  the  fighting  sort,  or  one  of  the 
crying  sort?  Some  are  as  dumb  as  the  dead,  and  others 
will  scream  for  hours,"  the  girl  remarked. 

Jakes  replied,  not  without  warmth,  that  "Moddom"  was 
not  mad,  she  was  the  finest  lady  in  the  three  Kingdoms. 
He  also  expressed  a  wish  to  leave  Miss  Henstock  as  a  per- 
manent inmate,  as  he,  with  the  other  servants  at  Kingslade, 
hated  the  sight  of  the  lady  doctor. 

"You  can  have  her  as  a  gift,"  he  said,  "and  if  you'll  take 
my  advice,  you'll  straight- jacket  her  right  off." 

"Yet,  for  all  that,  your  lady  is  a  loony,"  the  girl  retorted, 
"I  heard  the  Governor — Doctor  Chapman — saying  she  was 
expected." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  283 

The  news  was  so  sudden  and  so  ugly  to  Jakes,  that  he 
had  only  just  time  to  see  that  Doctor  Henstock  was  return- 
ing, and  to  regain  his  seat  in  the  car,  while  the  nurse  ran 
off.  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  luggage  had  been  taken  out  of  the 
car,  and  Jakes  had  been  given  orders  to  drive  Doctor  Hen- 
stock  to  the  nearest  station,  which  was  quite  a  short  run. 
At  the  station  she  had  spoken  to  him,  and  said  that,  if  he 
had  any  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  nursing  home  in  which 
Mrs.  Lorrimer  had  been  left,  he  was  to  keep  it  to  himself. 
"We  are  all  devoted  to  your  mistress,"  she  said,  "and  I  feel 
sure  that  you  would  not  injure  her  in  any  way.  At  present 
you  can  serve  her  best  by  saying  nothing  at  all."  She  had 
given  him  a  very  moderate  tip  and  he  watched  her  get 
into  the  train  for  London. 

For  a  long  time  Jakes  had  kept  a  still  tongue.  He  was 
in  London  with  Colonel  Lorrimer,  and  Kingslade  knew  him 
no  more,  until  one  night,  quite  late,  he  returned  to  collect 
his  belongings.  He  had  had  a  row  with  the  Colonel  and  was 
sacked  for  impertinence.  In  his  anger  he  spoke  to  Mat- 
tingly,  and  said  at  the  same  time  that  a  lawsuit  should  be 
taken  against  Colonel  Lorrimer  and  Doctor  Henstock.  They 
had,  between  them,  shut  "Moddom"  up  in  a  madhouse,  and 
the  thought  of  it  tormented  his  mind.  He  himself  was 
leaving  for  Canada,  and  before  he  left  he  wanted  to  feel 
that  someone  knew  the  facts,  in  case  questions  ever  arose. 
They  had  talked  it  all  over,  Mattingly,  Jakes,  and  the  Mc- 
Gregors, but  they  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Jakes  was  off 
for  the  Colonies,  but  the  others  had  good  places  and  a 
reasonably  good  master,  so  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  go 
against  him.  It  was  no  affair  of  theirs,  and  they  had  de- 
cided to  keep  the  matter  quiet.  They  regarded  Miss  Batten 
as  a  friend,  and  were  ready  to  confide  in  her,  but  she  felt 
that  they  would  not  tell  anyone  else  the  alarming  facts. 

When  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  of  her  story,  she 
leaned  back,  faint  and  trembling  in  the  car,  her  eyes  strained 
and  wild. 

"It  nearly  killed  me,"  she  said  in  a  suffocated  voice. 
"Oh,  Mr.  Amyas,  do  you  suppose  that  Colonel  Lorrimer 
was  a  party  to  such  an  act  as  that?" 


284  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Amyas  was  gripping  his  hands  on  his  stick  and  staring 
before  him.  Cathy  in  a  madhouse.  Cathy,  who  had  been 
surrounded  by  a  wealth  of  adoration  and  love  such  as  was 
the  lot  of  few.  If  he  had  heard  that  she  had  been  sold 
into  indecent  slavery  he  could  not  have  suffered  a  wilder 
sense  of  rage  and  wrong.  Her  husband  and  her  trusted 
friend  had  used  her  simple  faith  in  them  to  lead  her  uncon- 
sciously to  the  pit  which  they  had  digged.  She  had  been 
months  now  in  this  licensed  prison,  and  he  sat  bereft  of 
speech  as  the  truth  flooded  over  him. 

He  recalled  again  the  conversation  between  Luke  and 
Hammersly ;  Luke  had  come  back  that  day  to  try  and  recall 
his  action,  vile  enough  in  all  conscience,  but  clean  as  com- 
pared to  the  treachery  of  Monica  and  Lorrimer.  He  had 
been  called  in,  because  he  was  under  the  thumb  of  Ham- 
mersly; yet,  even  so,  some  late  glimmering  of  remorse  had 
caught  him,  and  he  desired  to  undo  the  foul  work  to  which 
he  had  lent  his  hand.  These  specious,  respectable  people 
who  had  decided  that  Cathy  was  in  the  way,  had  played 
the  game  well,  but  not  well  enough;  and  what  was  one  to 
do? 

Amyas  patted  Miss  Batten's  hands,  and  spoke  at  last. 

"You  have  done  splendidly,"  he  said.  "God  knows,  if 
it  was  not  that  I  had  met  you,  she  might  be  there  for 
ever." 

"But  you  don't  think  that  he  knows,"  she  said  desperately. 
"He  can't  know.  Doctor  Henstock  has  lied  to  him,  she  has 
told  him  that  it  is  a  nursing  home  and  he  only  knows  that." 

"Make  no  mistake,  Miss  Batten,"  Robert  spoke  savagely, 
"Colonel  Lorrimer  hasn't  any  doubts  at  all.  Without  his 
full  consent  it  would  not  have  been  possible.  The  man  is 
as  dishonoured  as  the  woman." 

"Oh  no,  oh  no,"  Batkins  sobbed  unrestrainedly.  "Don't 
tell  me  that." 

"It  matters  very  little  what  I  say,"  Amyas  said,  he  was 
feeling  dreadfully  tired.  "You  have  found  out  where  she 
is,  and  that  is  everything." 

When  he  got  back  to  his  rooms  he  sat  for  a  long  time 
thinking.  He  wanted  advice,  and  immediate  action  was  im- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  285 

perative.  Now  that  he  knew  the  truth,  he  was  armed,  and 
he  decided  that  his  first  step  must  be  to  see  Lorrimer  and 
give  himself  the  pleasure  of  telling  him  what  he  thought 
of  him. 

Taking  the  telephone  book  from  the  table,  he  looked  up 
his  address.  Lorrimer  still  had  his  flat  in  St.  James's  Court, 
and  Amyas  decided  to  go  there  after  he  had  dined.  All 
through  the  meal  he  thought  of  Cathy.  God!  How  awful 
it  was.  He  knew  nothing  of  lunatic  asylums,  but  even  the 
best  must  be  tainted  by  the  presence  of  the  inmates.  She 
might  not  be  subjected  to  harsh  treatment — in  these  civi- 
lised days  such  a  thought  was  impossible — but  she  was  un- 
der the  closest  restraint,  at  best,  and  the  others  with  her 
might  be  an  abiding  nightmare.  How  had  they  been  able 
to  do  it  all  so  easily?  Amyas  had  an  idea  that  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  get  lunatics  certified.  There  was  so  much  mystery 
about  it  all  that  he  wondered  if  it  were  legally  possible  for 
Monica  and  Doctor  Luke  to  pass  sentence  upon  Cathy 
Rossiter,  and  no  one  be  able  to  protect  her  or  interfere. 
She  had  evidently  been  taken  to  the  asylum  without  the 
smallest  idea  of  the  nature  of  her  destination.  If  you 
judged  Cathy  by  the  ordinary  standards,  she  was  certainly 
unusual,  and  some  might  call  her  eccentric ;  but  there  were 
no  ordinary  standards  for  such  as  she.  How  had  they  dared 
to  lay  their  sacrilegious  hands  upon  her?  His  anger  deep- 
ened and  grew  as  he  thought  of  it.  Lorrimer  had  married 
her,  taken  her  away  from  them  all,  and,  when  he  grew 
tired  of  her  he  had  stooped  to  something  suspiciously  akin 
to  crime. 

He  finished  eating  and  told  his  man  to  call  a  taxi.  If 
luck  favoured  him  he  might  catch  Lorrimer  at  the  flat. 

When  he  arrived  he  was  told  by  Lorrimer's  servant  that 
his  master  was  still  at  dinner,  and  that  he  was  alone,  and 
Amyas  was  shown  into  a  smoking-room  to  wait.  The  room 
was  comfortably  furnished  and  there  was  the  lingering 
smell  of  good  cigars.  Everything  was  costly,  heavy  and 
ugly,  and  prosperity  was  written  large  upon  all.  Nowhere 
wag  there  the  smallest  trace  of  Cathy.  The  photographs 
on  the  tables  and  along  the  mantelpiece  were  those  of 


286  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Lorrimer's  own  people,  and  one  snapshot  of  Monica,  which 
showed  her  smiling  and  gay.  It  cost  Robert  an  effort  not 
to  take  it  from  its  leather  case  and  tear  it  to  atoms.  If 
he  hated  Lorrimer,  he  hated  Doctor  Henstock  with  double 
violence.  The  servant  reappeared  after  a  few  moments, 
carrying  a  tray  set  with  glasses,  a  decanter  of  whisky  and 
a  syphon.  He  told  Amyas  that  Colonel  Lorrimer  was  just 
coming,  and  as  he  retired  discreetly,  Robert  heard  the  ad- 
vancing footsteps  of  his  host. 

Lorrimer  was  evidently  astonished  at  both  the  hour  of 
Robert's  visit  and  the  fact  that  he  had  come  at  all.  He 
adopted  a  slightly  haughty  air  ("like  an  affronted  butcher," 
was  Robert's  summing  up),  and  he  squared  his  elbows  and 
spoke  in  a  carefully  modulated  voice. 

"How  deydo,  Amyas?"  he  said  condescendingly;  "won't 
you  sit  down?" 

"No,  I  won't,"  Amyas  replied,  standing  with  his  hands  in 
his  coat  pockets. 

Lorrimer,  who  was  inwardly  commenting  upon  his  fe- 
brile, foppish  appearance,  at  once  looked  away. 

"Well — if  you  won't  .  .  ."  he  said,  and  he  seated  him- 
self, lighting  a  cigar  and  throwing  his  case  on  the  table. 
"Will  you  smoke?" 

"No,"  Amyas  said  again,  and  Lorrimer  picked  a  paper 
from  the  floor,  speaking  over  it. 

"Then,  if  you  won't  sit  down  or  smoke,  perhaps  you  will 
not  mind  if  I  read  the  paper?"  he  said  rudely. 

"On  what  grounds  have  you  put  Miss  Rossiter  into  a 
lunatic  asylum?"  Amyas  said.  He  was  there  to  be  direct 
and  not  to  beat  about  the  bush. 

"I  suppose  that  you  are  referring  to  my  wife,"  Lorrimer 
laid  down  the  paper  and  stared  at  Robert  with  hostile  eyes. 

"Unfortunately — most  unfortunately,  I  am." 

"What  the  devil  has  it  got  to  do  with  you?" 

"I  learnt  to-day,"  Amyas  said,  speaking  quietly,  "that  for 
months  past  she  has  been  an  inmate  of  a  place  called 
Welldon  Grange." 

Lorrimer  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  don't  ask  you  how 
you  gained  this  information,"  he  said  bitterly,  "but,  since 


CATHY  ROSSITER  287 

you  have,  it  is  the  case.  Now  you  can  get  out — go  and 
spread  it  round  London." 

Amyas  flushed,  but  he  held  himself  in  check. 

"You  and  Doctor  Henstock  have  hidden  the  fact  from 
Lady  Carstairs.  She  asked  you  to  be  frank  with  her,  and 
you  refused.  What  you  have  to  do  now,  is  to  state  the 
grounds  upon  which  Doctor  Henstock  and  a  drunken  swine 
called  Luke  have  acted." 

Lorrimer's  eyes  flickered  and  his  face  twitched. 

"I  decline  to  wash  my  dirty  linen  in  public,"  he  said 
slowly. 

"As  one  of  Miss  Rossiter's  oldest  friends,  I  came  here 
to  give  you  a  chance,"  Robert  said.  He  loathed  the  man 
as  he  watched  him,  but  he  did  not  intend  to  lose  his  self- 
control.  "If  you  do  not  intend  to  make  any  explanation, 
other  means  will  be  used." 

"I  have  heard  that  threat  before,"  Lorrimer  said,  with 
the  suggestion  of  a  sneer.  "You  call  yourself  one  of  my 
wife's  oldest  friends.  Perhaps  she  might  not  thank  you 
for  your  interference." 

"Let  us  keep  to  the  point,"  Amyas  said  quietly ;  "I  want 
the  facts — if  there  are  any." 

Lorrimer  looked  at  him  with  speculative  eyes.  After  all, 
since  the  truth  was  out,  he  might  permit  himself  the  satis- 
faction of  clearing  his  own  character.  Amyas  was  in  love 
with  Cathy  in  his  contemptible  way,  and  there  would  be  a 
distinct  sense  of  pleasure  in  letting  go.  But  he  intended 
to  do  it  more  or  less  artistically. 

"I  think  I  will  tell  you,"  he  said,  with  a  short  laugh.  "Do 
you  suppose  that  Doctor  Henstock  or  I  acted  without 
reason?  Come,  come  now,  Amyas,  we  are  reasonable 
human  beings.  My  wife  was,  as  you  know,  very  seriously 
ill  through  her  own  act  chiefly,  and  she  had  a  long  treat- 
ment from  Doctor  Henstock." 

"I  know  all  that,"  Amyas  said  impatiently. 

"It  is  not  exactly  pleasant  for  me,  as  she  is  my  wife," 
he  leaned  heavily  upon  the  word,  "to  admit  that  she  was 
carrying  on  what  I  must  describe  as  rather  a  vulgar  affair 
with  Barlow,"  he  just  glanced  at  Amyas  to  see  if  the  shot 


288  CATHY  ROSSITER 

had  told,  but  gained  nothing  by  his  watchfulness.  "I  only 
refer  to  this  to  let  you  understand  that  she  was  worked 
up — over  excited  and  behaving  rather  oddly." 

"You  need  not  trouble  with  excuses,"  Robert  said  curtly, 
"and  you  can  go  on  to  the  important  part  of  the  story." 

"As  you  will,"  Lorrimer  waved  his  hand  as  though  dis- 
posing of  the  subject.  He  was  showing  Amyas  that  he  had 
put  himself  beyond  the  prejudice  of  jealous  passion.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  composed  than  Lorrimer's  whole  manner ; 
later  on  he  would  let  Amyas  have  it  in  the  neck. 

"Passing  over  that  episode,"  he  continued,  in  the  same 
remote  and  rather  condescending  tones,  "I  must  next  tell 
you  that  my  wife  attacked  Miss  Batten,  my  secretary.  She," 
he  winced,  and  roughed  his  eyebrows  with  his  fingers,  bow- 
ing his  head,  for,  even  though  he  enjoyed  hitting  Amyas, 
it  was  hideous  to  speak  of,  "she  was  not  sane  at  the  time, 
I  believe,  though  I  did  not  know  it  then.  What  followed 
was  very  much  more  serious.  She  tried  to  take  her  own 
life  with  an  overdose  of  a  powerful  drug,  and  it  became 
evident  that  she  might  repeat  the  attempt." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  between  the  two  men,  and 
Lorrimer  lifted  himself  in  his  chair  and  looked  ferociously 
at  Amyas. 

"For  her  sake  I  have  hidden  the  fact  that  I  am  married 
to  a  suicidal  lunatic,  for  her  sake  I  have  kept  the  thing 
quiet;  but  you  have  gone  prying  into  what  is  no  concern 
of  yours,  and  I'll  damned  well  let  you  know  that  this  is  to 
be  the  end  of  it.  She  is  certified,  and  is  in  safe  keeping. 
If  you  go  to  Welldon  Grange  you  will  find  out  nothing 
further,  and  the  doctor  will  not  let  you  see  her.  You're  a 
damned  sight  too  much  interested  in  my  affairs,  and  now 
you  can  clear  out  of  this." 

"Don't  lose  your  head,"  Amyas  said  easily.  "You  are 
quite  a  reasonably  good  liar,  Lorrimer,  but  you  fail,  be- 
cause I  know  that  one  of  your  assertions  is  untrue.  I  don't 
believe  that  Miss  Rossiter  tried  to  kill  herself,  and  I  don't 
believe  that  she  is  mad.  Why,  if  your  conscience  is  so  ad- 
mirably clean,  did  you  call  in  Doctor  Luke  ?  What  was  your 
friend,  Doctor  Henstock,  thinking  of,  not  to  have  a  better 


CATHY  ROSSITER  289 

prop  than  that  on  which  to  hang  your  virtuous  conclusions  ? 
You  were  all  in  too  great  a  hurry,  and  I  know,  beyond 
any  doubt,  that  Luke  was  not  convinced,  and  that  he  was 
anxious  to  blot  out  his  own  share  in  your  dirty  work." 

Lorrimer  sprang  to  his  feet  in  a  towering  passion  of 
rage. 

"Do  you  dare  to  accuse  me  of  shutting  my  wife  up  in 
an  asylum  for  some  reason  of  my  own?  Good  God,  it's 
beyond  endurance." 

Amyas  nodded,  and  walked  to  the  door. 

"I  came  here  prepared  to  hear  very  much  what  you  have 
told  me,"  he  said.  "At  present,  I  shall  only  tell  Lady 
Carstairs,  and  those  who  are  closely  concerned."  He 
turned  at  the  door  and  looked  at  Lorrimer,  who  bestrode 
the  hearth-rug,  debating  with  himself  whether  or  not  he 
should  kick  Amyas  out.  "It's  your  affair  no  longer.  You've 
given  her  months  of  hell,  and  you've  got  to  pay  for  that." 

Lorrimer  sat  down  again  after  Amyas  had  closed  the 
door.  He  was  stirred  to  the  depths,  and  his  face  was  heavy 
with  anger.  As  he  saw  it,  he  was  innocent,  and  he  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  any  amount  of  cackling  people ;  but  he 
dreaded  the  voice  of  public  opinion.  People — some  people 
at  any  rate — might  accuse  him,  and  you  could  not  silence 
a  scandal  once  it  was  alive  and  active.  Why  had  Monica 
always  made  such  a  point  of  secrecy?  If  they  had  given 
the  facts  out  from  the  first  it  would  have  saved  all  sus- 
picion, and  suspicion  is  an  ugly  thing  to  tackle  if  it  creeps 
into  the  Press.  Monica  had  said  that  "if  Cathy  ever  re- 
covered" no  one  must  have  it  to  say  of  her  that  she  had 
once  been  mad.  It  was  her  wonderful  loyalty  which  had 
jeopardised  the  situation — or  was  it  because  she  had  never 
really  felt  quite  satisfied  as  to  the  validity  of  her  own  de- 
cision? Monica  had  not  given  him  any  clue  whatever  to 
this  point.  The  months  had  brought  about  a  closer  unity 
between  them.  Without  her  he  would  have  been  intensely 
alone,  and  he  needed  a  woman.  The  wild  birds,  the 
women  who  must  otherwise  have  filled  the  gap,  would  have 
had  no  real  place  in  his  life.  He  had  loved  Cathy,  but  that 
was  over;  he  was  only  angry  with  her  now.  There  was 


290  CATHY  ROSSITER 

nothing  exciting,  nothing  inspiring  about  his  liaison  with 
Monica ;  it  was  more  like  a  secret  marriage,  and  there  were 
all  the  level  elements  of  the  holy  estate  in  their  inter- 
course. 

To  open  any  question  about  Cathy  was,  quite  conceivably, 
to  risk  the  discovery  of  the  relations  between  himself  and 
Monica,  and  that  must  never  be.  He  thought  very  tenderly 
of  Monica.  She  was  hard  and  definite  to  all  the  rest  of  the 
world,  but  to  him  she  was  gentleness  itself.  If  Amyas  was 
out  to  poke  and  pry,  he  might  discover  things  which  Lorri- 
mer  had  no  intention  of  allowing  anyone  to  know.  Ham- 
mersly  more  than  suspected,  but  he  was  a  man  of  the  world 
and  could  be  trusted  implicitly ;  his  valet  also  knew,  but  he 
was  not  likely  to  talk ;  Jakes,  the  chauffeur,  who  had  been 
very  insolent  in  manner  and  might  possibly  have  discovered 
some  damning  fact,  was  in  Canada. 

He  bowed  his  head  on  his  clasped  hands,  his  elbows  on 
the  arms  of  his  chair,  and  looked  as  though  he  might  be 
praying.  Let  them  do  what  they  liked  about  Cathy.  She 
was  a  certified  lunatic,  and  the  law  was  upon  his  side.  In 
a  way,  it  was  a  relief  to  publish  his  wrong.  Lorrimer  was 
pleased,  in  a  sense,  at  that,  so  that  the  yapping  crowd  fol- 
lowed the  line  and,  in  their  heat  and  excitement,  knew 
nothing  of  the  secret  which  was  precious  to  his  soul.  He 
got  up  at  last  and  rang  up  Doctor  Henstock.  In  trouble 
or  in  victory  alike,  he  always  returned  to  Monica. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WEARY  as  he  was,  Amyas  did  not  go  back  to  his  own  rooms. 
He  intended  to  see  Lilian,  and  to  do  that  he  would  have 
to  go  to  her  house.  Hinton  might  be  there,  and  there  had 
been  all  that  dreary  business  between  them,  but  surely  that 
might  be  left  to  rest  in  peace  at  last.  Amyas  cast  a  fleeting 
thought  backwards  and  recalled  his  own  former  self;  and 
he  felt  as  he  did  so,  that  there  was  not  very  much  of  the 
t>ld  Robert  left.  He  was  glad  too,  in  a  way,  to  be  able  to 
feel  quite  honestly  that  his  love  for  Cathy  had  been  of 
later  growth.  It  involved  a  tiny  scruple,  because  Cathy 
demanded  something  righteous,  whether  in  love  or  friend- 
ship. When  he  realised  that  she  meant  everything  to  him, 
he  had  done  with  Lilian  or  she  had  done  with  him,  and  he 
had  begun  to  slip  down  the  descent  to  Avernus.  Cathy  had 
made  him  realise  where  he  was  bound  for ;  not  by  preach- 
ing, but  by  some  far  stronger  power.  She  was  so  wholly 
good  herself,  that  to  love  her  was  to  touch  the  hem  of  a 
healing  garment.  For  her  sake,  Robert  had  sloughed  his 
former  way  of  life,  and  his  strength  had  grown  slowly 
with  the  fight.  There  was  no  promise  of  reward  anywhere, 
but  reward  had  no  place  in  the  scheme.  Amyas  had  climbed 
to  a  height  where  love  loses  sight  of  self  and  thinks  only 
of  the  Beloved.  It  was  easy,  now,  to  toss  the  conventions 
aside  and  walk  up  the  steps  of  the  house  where  Lilian 
lived.  They  both  would  do  anything  for  Cathy,  and  Robert 
knew  that  Lilian  was  as  straight  as  a  line. 

He  found  her  alone,  and  she  was  honestly  glad  to  see 
him,  though  at  once  she  realised  that  he  had  bad  news  to 
tell  her,  and  when  he  sat  down  she  at  once  asked  for  Cathy. 

"I  feel  sure  you  have  news  of  her  at  last,"  she  said,  and 
her  eyes  clouded.  "Robert,  she  is  not  seriously  ill?" 

He  looked  back  at  her  and  spoke  steadily. 

291 


292  CATHY  ROSSITER 

As  Lilian  listened  to  his  story  her  face  grew  very  white, 
and  she  flung  out  her  hands  impulsively. 

"No,  Robert,  no.  It  can't  be.  Monica  and  Jack  to  have 
done  this?  But  it  is  impossible." 

"It  is  not  impossible;  they  have  done  it." 

Amyas  gave  her  an  account  of  his  recent  interview  with 
Lorrimer,  and  Lilian  seemed  to  be  thinking  rapidly. 

"They  have  kept  everything  so  quiet,"  she  said,  "I  don't 
believe  that  anyone  has  the  smallest  idea.  I  always  knew 
that  Muggins  was  in  love  with  Jack,  but  that  was  a  passive 
condition — or  so  I  judged.  We  all  liked  Mug,  and  I  find 
it  so  hard  to  believe  that  she  could  be  utterly  different  to 
what  one  imagined.  Jack  Lorrimer  was  always  a  puzzle  to 
me,  because  I  never  understood  what  it  was  Cathy  found 
in  him.  But  he  seemed  so  devoted  to  her,  and  one  hoped 
that  it  might  work  out  quite  splendidly." 

"Well,  it  hasn't,"  Amyas  said  laconically.  "He  hates 
her,  judging  by  the  way  he  spoke.  He  is  totally  devoid  of 
either  feeling  or  imagination,  and  he  only  knows  that  he  is 
free  of  her  and  that  he  has  been  let  in.  I  always  knew  the 
man  was  a  rotter,  always." 

"Yes,  you  did  know  it,"  Lilian  admitted.  "The  next  thing 
to  do  is  to  get  her  out  of  this  awful  place  at  once."  Her 
face  grew  very  serious.  "Has  it  struck  you  that  so  long  a 
time  under  such  circumstances  may  have  done  Cathy  in- 
calculable harm?"  She  flinched,  and  went  on  quickly. 
"Don't  let  us  think  of  it,  Robert.  We  must  act  at  once." 

"That  is  why  I  came,"  he  said  simply;  "I'm  too  rabid  to 
think  clearly.  What  ought  we  to  do?" 

"I  think,  in  common  fairness,  I  ought  to  go  to  Muggins 
and  tell  her  that  we  know.  If  she  is  playing  the  game,  she 
must  help  us,  by  telling  us  all  she  can.  I'll  go  to  her  first 
thing  in  the  morning." 

"And  after  that.     Given  that  she  is  not  going  to  help?" 

"We'd  better  have  advice.  There  is  sure  to  be  a  legal 
complication.  Any  sort  of  patched  up  business  that  in- 
cludes certification  may  mean  that  there  is  a  law  in  exis- 
tence for  dealing  with  the  question." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  293 

"Will  you  come  with  me  to  Dobree,  when  you  have  seen 
Doctor  Henstock?"  he  asked,  "or  do  you  mind?" 

"Mind?  Robert,  don't  be  idiotic."  She  flushed  slightly. 
"We  have  forgotten  all  that." 

"I  can't  believe  that  Doctor  Henstock  will  help,"  he  said, 
as  he  got  up  to  leave.  "She  and  Lorrimer  are  tarred  with 
the  same  damned  brush.  Still,  since  you  think  it  necessary, 
you  must  try." 

Lilian  sat  thinking  after  Amyas  had  left  her.  The  news 
of  Cathy's  fate  had  come  like  a  thunderclap,  and  she  could 
hardly  believe  it.  Cathy  had  always  been  wayward,  and  her 
great  zest  for  life  had  made  her  vehement  when  she  ought 
to  have  been  calm.  Cathy  cared  for  everything,  she  was  no 
half-hearted  believer;  her  friends  went  surrounded  with 
haloes,  and  her  ideals  were  gloriously  impossible.  Now  she 
had  come  to  a  place  of  fear  and  terror,  and  not  one  of  all 
those  who  loved  her  was  near  to  be  of  help.  As  she  stood 
with  her  elbows  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  her  face  set  and 
firm,  Lilian  swore  that  she  would  not  fail  her  friend. 

In  the  morning  she  rang  up  Doctor  Henstock,  and  said 
that  she  wanted  to  see  her  urgently;  Monica  listened  with 
a  curious  look  in  her  eyes.  This  was  the  second  move  in 
the  attack  begun  the  previous  night.  Lady  Carstairs  was 
likely  to  be  the  next.  They  wanted  the  truth.  Let  them 
have  it ;  there  was  no  use  postponing  the  interview.  Lilian 
had  a  determination  which  could  not  be  evaded,  and  it  was 
better  to  appear  ready  and  even  anxious  to  give  the  details. 
Monica  looked  stronger  and  happier  than  she  had  been,  and 
she  had  left  most  of  her  scruples  behind  her.  There  was 
something  very  definite  to  fight  for  now,  for  if  Cathy  were 
to  regain  her  freedom  Monica's  whole  happiness  was  likely 
to  tumble  to  bits.  She  had  steered  her  difficult  course  well, 
and  had  spared  Jack  everything.  He,  in  response  to  her 
manipulation  of  the  difficult  part,  had  never  felt  that  he 
need  avoid  her,  and  now  they  had  most  of  what  they 
wanted.  Cathy  had  succeeded  in  standing  between  Monica 
and  open  admission;  had  robbed  her  of  Lorrimer's  name 
and  the  right  to  live  at  Kingslade  as  his  wife;  but  life  is  a 
series  of  compromises,  and  Monica  made  the  best  of  it. 


294  CATHY  ROSSITER 

He  was  hers  now  and  he  would  never  desire  to  change.  Let 
Cathy's  people  rage  like  the  heathen,  they  could  not  assault 
the  secure  position  in  which  she  stood.  She  knew  how  the 
land  lay,  and  Cathy  had  been  certified.  Doctor  Chapman's 
reports  had  been  bad.  There  was  ample  reason  for  close 
supervision.  Cathy  was  out  of  her  mind,  she  had  tried  to 
escape  from  Welldon  Grange,  and  that,  in  itself,  was  sheer 
proof  of  lunacy.  At  first,  Monica  had  told  herself  that 
Cathy  would  recover  and  come  back;  she  wished  to  think 
this,  and  it  comforted  her,  but  now  she  felt  differently,  and 
she  knew  that  her  secret  desire  was  that  Cathy  should  not 
ever  return.  It  takes  time  to  strangle  a  conscience,  and 
Monica  had  stifled  hers  slowly.  She  had  got  past  gener- 
osity. 

When  Lilian  arrived,  she  met  her  with  great  cordiality, 
and  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  sofa.  Her  room  was  far 
more  comfortable  than  in  the  old  days,  and  Lilian  smelt  the 
faint  reek  of  cigar  smoke.  Lorrimer  and  evidently  de- 
manded easier  chairs,  for  there  were  several  now,  and  the 
flowers  in  the  vases  were  expensive,  not  at  all  the  kind 
which  Monica's  natural  parsimony  would  have  supplied. 

"I've  come  about  Cathy,"  Lilian  said,  putting  her  hands 
on  Monica's  shoulders.  "Why  did  you  do  this,  Mug?" 

"Need  you  ask  me  that  ?"  Monica  said,  meeting  her  eyes. 
"It's  far  worse  than  you  can  dream,  Lil.  Oh,  my  dear,  life 
is  extraordinarily  cruel." 

She  talked  quickly  and  freely.  Cathy  had  shown  a  whole 
array  of  tendencies;  she  had  been  unbalanced  and  hysteri- 
cal and  had  tried  to  take  her  life. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  Lilian  said,  disengaging  herself  from 
Monica's  hands  and  getting  up.  She  sat  down  on  a  seat 
a  little  way  off,  for  the  close  proximity  of  Monica  was 
distasteful  to  her. 

"You  don't  believe  what  I  say?"  Monica's  tone  was  full 
of  reproach.  "Surely,  Lilian,  you  don't  mean  that  you 
accuse  me  of  putting  my  greatest  friend  into  a  lunatic 
asylum?  What  a  dreadful  thing  to  say."  She  paused,  be- 
tween anger  and  distress. 

"No,  I  don't  believe  it,"  Lilian  repeated.    "Cathy  was  al- 


CATHY  ROSSITER  295 

ways  wild,  but  that  is  quite  different.  As  for  the  Barlow 
libel,  Barlow  himself  has  denied  it.  Cathy  never  went  to 
meet  him,  in  the  first  place.  He  found  her  on  the  road, 
and  he  brought  her  back  to  the  house.  The  second  time  he 
went  to  Kingslade,  it  was  to  warn  her  that  Colonel  Lorri- 
mer  was  being  openly  accused  of  political  dishonesty,  and, 
as  far  as  I  can  gather,"  Lilian  spoke  in  the  same  tone,  "it 
is  true." 

Monica  buckled  on  her  armour,  and  prepared  to  fight. 

"Then  you  are  ready  to  accept  George  Barlow's  asser- 
tion," she  shrugged  her  shoulders,  "and  you  accuse  me  of 
lying.  I  hardly  see  that  I  can  do  anything  more." 

"Then,"  continued  Lilian,  "you  said  that  Cathy  had  gone 
for  Miss  Batten ;  fought  with  her  like  a  fish-wife.  My  dear 
Monica,  tell  that  to  someone  else.  Miss  Batten  has  queered 
your  pitch  hopelessly.  She  suffers,  as  you  who  are  yourself 
a  doctor  ought  to  know,  from  some  inherited  weakness  that 
makes  her  bruise  or  bleed  at  any  trifling  touch.  Cathy  and 
she  were  quite  happy  together,  and  there  was  not  the  remot- 
est suggestion  that  Cathy  lost  her  head.  You  have  chosen 
to  put  your  own  construction  on  the  whole  affair." 

"Be  careful,"  Monica  said,  walking  to  the  writing-table, 
"I  do  not  allow  anyone  to  bring  accusations  of  this  nature 
against  me." 

"That's  all  very  well,"  Lilian  said,  with  a  hint  of  retort 
in  her  voice.  "You  are  to  say  what  you  choose  about  Cathy, 
and,  directly  I  prove  to  you  that  you  are  making  a  mistake, 
you  stand  on  your  professional  dignity.  As  to  Cathy  having 
tried  to  kill  herself,  I  know  nothing  of  the  facts,  but  I  do 
know  that  it  is  the  last  thing  she  would  do " 

"If  she  were  sane,"  Monica  interposed. 

"Why  should  she  take  her  life?  She  was,  so  she  be- 
lieved, going  back  to  London.  You  admitted  that  yourself, 
and  she  was  happy  when  she  left  Kingslade  with  you;  the 
chauffeur  told  that  fact,  and  he  can  be  got  back  from  Can- 
ada to  prove  it.  How  do  you  know  that  the  nurse  did  not 
make  a  mistake  as  to  the  amount  Cathy  could  take  of  the 
drug?  In  any  case,  if  she  had  been  living  a  normal  life,  it 
would  not  have  been  necessary.  You  cut  her  off  from  us 


296  CATHY  ROSSITER 

all,  and  then,  without  thinking  of  consulting  Lady  Carstairs, 
or  telling  a  single  soul,  you  and  Colonel  Lorrimer  get  her 
buried  alive  in  a  madhouse." 

"You  talk  as  though  it  were  easy,"  Monica  said.  Her 
heart  was  beating  fast,  and  she  was  in  a  cold  rage  of  anger. 
"It  is  necessary  to  have  the  opinion  of  two  doctors  who 
have  not  met  or  discussed  the  case  together,  and,  further,  a 
J.P.  has  to  sign  the  petition.  If  the  Lunacy  Laws  are  ever 
altered,  it  will  be  to  make  them  more  easy  than  they  stand 
at  present.  And  now,  Lilian,  as  you  have  relieved  your 
mind,  and  accused  me  of  professional  treachery  and  dis- 
loyalty to  my  greatest  friend,  perhaps  you  will  go  away." 

"Have  you  no  pity  for  Cathy  ?"  Lilian  got  up  and  looked 
at  Doctor  Henstock.  "Have  you  ever  been  to  see  her?" 

"Doctor  Chapman,  who  thinks  very  seriously  of  her  case, 
will  not  permit  her  to  see  anyone  whom  she  has  known  for- 
merly," Monica  said.  "No  doubt  you  will  say  that  he  is 
paid  to  keep  her  there,  and  that  he  is  also  in  the  plot."  She 
threw  an  angry  look  at  her  guest.  "Your  taste  for  melo- 
drama is  carrying  you  away  a  little,  and,  as  you  came  here 
to  abuse  me  in  my  own  house,  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will 
leave." 

"How  could  you  do  it,"  Lilian  said ;  "how  could  you  have 
the  heart  to  do  it?  She  loved  you  better  than  any  of  the 
rest  of  us  did,  Muggins.  You  don't  suppose  that  she  ever 
guessed  what  was  plain  enough  to  me.  .  .  ." 

"You  have  said  more  than  enough  already."  Monica  got 
up  quickly,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  stop  the  words  she 
knew  to  be  coming. 

"You  took  her  there  yourself,"  Lilian  went  on  in  the  same 
accusing  voice.  "Led  her,  like  that  awful  Bull  in  one  of 
Kipling's  books,  who  was  trained  to  bring  the  others  to  the 
abattoir.  I  was  your  friend,  but  now  I  would  rather  take 
the  hand  of  a  murderer."  She  had  worked  herself  up  into 
a  passion  of  reproach.  "I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  sorry  for 
you,  because  it  can't  be  pleasant  to  know  that  you  are  a 
traitor." 

She  left  the  house  with  its  new  air  of  prosperity,  its  deep 


CATHY  ROSSITER  297 

chairs,  and  its  scent  of  stale  smoke  and  flowers,  and  went  on 
to  where  Amyas  lived  in  Jermyn  Street. 

"I  saw  her,"  she  said,  still  a  little  breathless,  "and,  Robert, 
I  told  her  what  I  thought  of  her.  She  lied  to  me,  and  tried 
to  palm  off  all  the  same  old  story  about  Cathy  and  Barlow, 
her  attack  upon  Batkins,  and  her  attempt  to  take  her  life.  I 
am  convinced  that  she  and  Lorrimer  are  combined  together, 
peacefully  and  contentedly,  and  that  it  is  all  in  their  in- 
terests to  keep  Cathy  a  prisoner.  Surely  it  is  not  possible  ? 
We  ought  to  lose  no  time  now,  and  we  must  get  the  facts 
from  Dobree." 

"Yes,  for  God's  sake  let  us  lose  no  time,"  Robert  said, 
and,  taking  her  arm,  they  went  together  into  the  street  and 
got  into  the  waiting  car.  Was  it  really  odd  that  he  should 
be  driving  beside  the  woman  who  had  once  been  his  wife? 
It  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  both  of  them. 

Dobree's  office  was  in  the  City,  and  down  a  narrow  street 
where  his  rooms  were  located  upon  the  second  floor  of  a 
dark,  gaunt  house.  His  desk  stood  huge  and  imposing  in 
the  centre  of  a  fine  Turkey  carpet,  and  he  sat  in  a  revolving 
chair  attending  to  a  pile  of  folded  papers.  When  Amyas 
and  Lilian  came  in,  his  face  registered  the  full  extreme  of 
surprise.  He  was  an  old  friend,  and  had  acted  for  Amyas 
in  the  divorce  proceedings,  and  now  the  two  who  had  been 
so  unequally  yoked  were  standing  before  him,  and  Lilian 
had  her  hand  on  Robert's  arm.  He  rose  at  once,  and  shook 
hands  with  them,  not  attempting  to  hide  his  surprise. 

"We've,  come  here,"  Lilian  said,  "to  consult  you,  Mr. 
Dobree." 

Dobree  crossed  his  legs.  "Am  I  to  say  that  I  am  sorry, 
or  that  I  am  glad  ?"  he  asked  in  tones  of  perplexity. 

"It  has  nothing  to  do  with  us,"  Robert  said.  "What  we 
have  to  say  concerns  Miss  Rossiter.  You  remember  her; 
she  married  a  swine  called  Lorrimer." 

"My  dear  Robert,"  Dobree  spoke  pacifically;  "you  mean 
Lorrimer,  the  Member  for  Kingslade?  A  very  sound  fel- 
low. He  has  changed  his  views  of  late,  and  I  approve  of 
him." 


298  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"He  has  shut  her  up  in  an  asylum,"  Amyas  said  abruptly. 
"How  can  she  be  got  out  ?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Dobree,"  Lilian  spoke  earnestly,  "she  has  been 
there  for  months ;  we  none  of  us  knew,  and  she  is  no  more 
mad  than  I  am." 

Dobree  put  his  hands  flat  on  the  blotting  paper  before 
him,  and  began  to  ask  questions.  How  lately  had  either 
•Robert  or  Lilian  seen  Mrs.  Lorrimer?  Who  was  the  peti- 
tioner? What  doctors  had  been  called  in  to  certify  the 
patient,  and  upon  what  grounds  was  the  petition  based? 

All  these  questions  having  been  answered,  Dobree  looked 
at  Amyas,  and  shook  his  head. 

"Legally,"  he  said,  "there  is  no  sort  of  hope.  You  ad- 
mit that,  since  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  marriage,  you  have  not 
seen  her,  neither  has  Mrs.  Hinton.  The  doctor,  Doctor 
Henstock,  who  felt  it  necessary  to  act,  was  in  charge  of  her 
for  a  long  time,  and  the  evidence  of  the  second  doctor  ac- 
corded with  hers." 

"Even  if  we  know  that  the  man  is  a  blackguard?" 

"You  have  to  prove  that,  and,  anyhow,  he  had  all  the 
necessary  qualifications.  There  is  no  proof  of  any  sort  that 
Lorrimer  wanted  to  get  rid  of  his  wife,  and  his  friendship 
with  Doctor  Henstock  was  shared  by  Mrs.  Lorrimer.  The 
nurse  and  Doctor  Henstock  both  say  that  Mrs.  Lorrimer 
tried  to  take  her  life,  and,  in  the  eyes  of  the  medical  pro- 
fession, that  is  regarded  as  a  full  proof  of  temporary  in- 
sanity." 

"But  you  don't  believe  that  she  is  mad  ?"  Lilian  asked. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Hinton,"  Dobree  shook  his  head,  "who 
am  I  to  say  whether  she  is  or  not?  You  have  put  the  case 
in  its  best  light,  because  you  yourself  are  not  convinced, 
but  no  one  else  will  believe  you."  He  swung  round  a  little 
in  his  chair.  "The  fact  is,  Lorrimer  petitioned,  because  the 
case  was  represented  to  him  as  urgent.  It  often  is  so.  I 
cannot  agree  that  he  did  this  out  of  malice,  because  there 
is  not  a  vestige  of  evidence  to  prove  it.  The  doctor  in 
charge  of  the  asylum  would  have  released  Mrs.  Lorrimer 
at  once,  had  she  not  shown  further  symptoms  of  insanity. 
If  he  is  satisfied  that  she  has  recovered,  the  rest  is  easy,  but 


CATHY  ROSSITER  299 

it  will  rest  upon  his  decision  what  you  can  do  for  the  un- 
happy lady." 

"Then  a'ny  man  can  get  two  doctors  to  swear  that  his 
wife  is  mad,  and  there  is  no  appeal  after  that?"  Amyas  said. 
"If  that  is  the  law,  it's  likely  that  there  are  more  cases  than 
one.  I  can't  believe  it,  Dobree." 

"Get  two  doctors,"  Dobree  repeated.  "At  this  moment 
I  have  a  client  with  a  mad  wife,  and  in  the  length  and 
breadth  of  London  he  can't  get  two  doctors  to  certify. 
She  is  as  sane  as  a  judge  once  they  arrive.  In  this 
case,  you  can't  prove  a  thing.  If  Lor  rimer  himself  wants 
to  act,  it  is  very  doubtful  that  she  would  be  released.  Cer- 
tainly not,  unless  the  asylum  doctor  was  satisfied." 

"And  Cathy  may  stay  there  for  ever?"  Lilian's  clear 
voice  broke  and  she  put  out  her  hands,  groping  vaguely. 

"Closed  in,  shut  away  from  us  all,  and  none  of  us  able 
to  comfort  her?" 

Dobree  nodded  silently.  He  was  sorry  for  Lilian's  dis- 
tress, but  he  had  no  consolation  to  administer.  He  felt  that 
sentiment  had  outrun  her  judgment,  and  he  ought  to  cau- 
tion them  both,  before  they  left. 

"To  attempt  in  any  way  to  aid  Mrs.  Lorrimer  to  escape 
would  merely  mean  disaster,"  he  said  emphatically.  "In 
these  days  we  are  dealing  with  establishments  where  the 
care  and  protection  of  the  lunatics  is  assured.  Welldon 
Grange,  you  said?  It  is  a  beautifully  situated  place,  and 
most  costly.  Lorrimer  has  not  spared  his  own  pocket. 
Whatever  Mrs.  Lorrimer  may  lack,  she  has  certainly  every 
possible  comfort  around  her,  and,  after  all,"  he  spoke  re- 
assuringly, "she  may  become  cured." 

Lilian  got  up  quickly.  "She  was  never  mad,"  she  said 
defiantly.  "Is  it  nothing  at  all  that  we  know  that  Colonel 
Lorrimer  and  Doctor  Henstock  wanted  her  out  of  the 
way?" 

"All  that  has  to  be  proved,"  Dobree  said;  "and  even  if 
you  did  prove  it  up  to  the  hilt,  it  does  not  do  away  with  the 
certification.  Doctor  Chapman,  a  man  far  above  all  possi- 
bility of  suspicion,  has  found  it  necessary  to  retain  her 
there.  That  in  itself  is  an  answer.  If  Lorrimer  lived  openly 


300  CATHY  ROSSITER 

with  some  woman,  it  would  not  clear  his  wife  of  the  sad 
accusation  against  her  sanity." 

Lilian  turned  to  Amyas. 

"Robert,"  she  said,  "what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"We  shall  get  her  out,"  he  replied.  "Don't  you  worry, 
Lil."  He  turned  to  Dobree.  "Dobree,  old  boy,  I  daresay 
you  are  right,  but,  even  if  Lorrimer  is  clean  in  the  courts  of 
law,  he  isn't  in  the  court  of  honour,  if  there  is  such  a  place. 
You  haven't  helped  very  much,"  he  smiled  at  his  old  friend. 
"Was  there  ever  a  lawyer  yet  who  didn't  tell  his  client  to  let 
things  be?" 

Dobree  took  Robert's  hand.  "I  don't  wrant  you  to  be  in 
the  Police  Courts  for  trespass,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "It's 
no  good.  Leave  it  alone,  and  try  not  to  exaggerate." 

"The  law  is  merciless,"  Lilian  said.  "In  the  end  there 
will  be  a  huge  revolt,  Mr.  Dobree,  and  people  will  make  new 
ones.  I  suppose  you  will  have  a  Commission  and  a  Report, 
and  then,  after  a  hundred  years,  you  will  get  a  move  on." 

"Mrs.  Lorrimer  can  write  to  her  petitioner,  or  to  any 
Secretary  of  State,"  Dobree  explained.  "The  Commission- 
ers visit  the  place,  and  she  has  full  liberty  to  see  them  alone. 
Do  you  really  believe  that  they  could  be  influenced  ?  There, 
at  least,  we  can  get  away  from  the  suggestion  of  collusion." 

"I  don't  feel  that  it  matters  much,"  Amyas  said.  "The 
law  protects  Lorrimer  all  round,  one  merely  has  to  ignore 
it." 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  Dobree  said,  standing  at  the  top  of  the 
staircase,  "but  I  can  do  nothing  for  you,  nothing  at  all." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

FOR  a  time  Cathy  was  kept  in  bed,  and  her  windows  faced 
the  padded  rooms,  or  if  not  the  padded  rooms,  some  place  oi 
close  detention  from  whence  there  came  constant  sounds  oi 
maniacal  patients  wailing  or  shrieking;  at  night  there  was 
not  any  relief,  even  for  a  few  minutes,  from  the  incessant 
noise. 

If  a  blessed  pause  did  come,  Cathy  lay  waiting  for  the 
next  outburst,  in  tense  anticipation,  and  the  effect  of  her 
sleeplessness  told  upon  her  rapidly.  And  all  through  the 
daylight  hours  she  was  the  victim  of  constant  interruption 
from  imbecile  patients,  who  came  and  pressed  their  faces 
to  the  glass  of  the  window,  or  wandered  into  her  room, 
to  be  dragged  away,  fighting  or  crying,  by  their  attendants. 

What  did  it  all  mean?  She  lay  with  hidden  face  and 
put  the  question  to  herself  over  and  over  again.  Was  she 
there  because  the  surroundings  were  calculated  to  drive 
her  mad,  and  was  that  why  she  was  kept  there?  All  the 
sordid  misery  of  the  days  piled  its  load  upon  her,  and  she 
felt,  at  times,  as  though  she  must  go  down  under  the  un- 
bearable weight.  Only  that  she  believed  that  there  was  hope 
ahead  of  her,  she  would  have  given  up  the  battle,  and  loosed 
the  flood  gates  of  her  own  despair. 

She  strove  to  keep  her  mind  from  the  thought  of  Lorri- 
mer  and  Monica,  and  she  stuffed  her  ears  to  deaden  sound, 
and  compose  the  red  whirl  of  her  mind.  The  stark  reality 
of  horror  oppressed  her,  and  the  awful  dread  of  any  panic 
in  her  own  soul  was  like  some  constant  menace.  There 
were  hours  when  she  felt  as  though  she  were  enfolded  by 
the  waves  of  some  burning  sea,  and,  weak  and  helpless,  she 
lay  under  the  scourge  of  her  memories  and  her  terror. 

In  the  most  tragic  moments  of  any  experience,  it  is  true 
that  the  subject  who  suffers  is  capable  of  getting  away  from 

301 


302  CATHY  ROSSITER 

the  external  facts.  Cathy,  swept  by  the  fire  waves,  was 
visited  by  spells  of  deep  calm,  when  the  reality  of  her  own 
lot  faded  away,  and  became  misty  and  vague.  The  woman 
who  suffered  so  cruelly  was  not  Cathy,  and  she  was  then 
able  to  stand  outside  herself  and  pity  the  poor,  broken  crea- 
ture who  fought  to  keep  sane.  If  ever  the  Cathy  on  the 
bed,  and  the  Cathy  who  was  still  free,  should  become 
merged  and  mingled  in  a  wild  paroxysm,  she  knew  dimly 
that  all  would  be  over  for  her,  and  that  the  gates  of  doom 
would  never  open  to  let  her  out.  She  would  then  crave  for 
their  shelter  in  the  way  which  she  had  heard  that  patients 
frequently  craved  for  it,  and  might  beg  and  pray  to  remain 
where  she  was — the  last  state  of  the  damned.  Body  and 
soul  seemed  to  be  no  longer  one,  and  the  fight  continued 
mercilessly.  There  was  some  awful  temptation  in  these 
hours,  and  it  had  a  hideous  humour  to  it  which  caught  her 
and  forced  her  to  stifle  a  desire  to  laugh.  To  let  herself  go, 
go  sheer  to  maniacal  joys,  the  savage  desires,  the  shameless- 
ness  of  the  naked  state  that  spat  its  challenge  to  decency. 
There  was  some  wicked  lure  in  the  thought,  sly  and  en- 
gaging, something  which  intrigued  the  senses.  Again  and 
again  she  flung  the  foul  thing  from  her,  and  prayed  des- 
perately for  strength.  Somewhere,  amid  all  the  turmoil  and 
the  anguish,  there  was  that  clean  thing  which  men  call 
courage ;  something  divine  in  its  power. 

"It  depends  largely  upon  yourself  how  long  you  stay." 
Were  they  testing  her,  trying  her  strength  ?  She  recalled 
stories  of  the  saints  which  dealt  with  inexplicable  spiritual 
temptations  they  had  to  bear.  Her  whole  mind  was  still 
centred  upon  the  hope  promised  in  the  interview  with  the 
magistrate,  and  she  clung  to  it  desperately,  watching  for  it, 
and  continually  asking  why  he  had  not  come.  She  put  all 
her  faith  in  the  thought,  and,  as  she  struggled,  the  intensity 
of  the  strain  grew  less.  She  was  gaining  control  each  day, 
and  her  faith  in  herself  was  now  unshadowed,  so  that  the 
worst  dread  was  a  thing  of  the  past.  She  could  not  be 
driven  mad.  They  had  done  their  worst,  and  now  they 
could  not  deprive  her  of  her  reward.  What  did  it  matter 
if  she  was  aged  by  years,  or  if  she  would  never  again  be 


CATHY  ROSSITER  303 

the  old,  light-hearted  Cathy  Rossiter?  She  had  fought  a 
good  fight,  and  she  had  conquered.  Eight  days,  Doctor 
Bracy  had  said,  and  she  had  endured  the  time  without  losing 
her  reason. 

At  the  end  of  eight  days  the  magistrate  had  not  yet  come, 
but  her  spirits  rose,  as  she  realised  that  her  period  of  pro- 
bation was  ended,  and  she  welcomed  her  attendant  with  a 
gay  smile. 

"Tell  me  that  I  have  been  good,"  she  said ;  "I  really  feel 
that  I  have.  But  to-day  it  is  over." 

The  attendant  was  carrying  an  armful  of  her  clothes,  and 
she  put  them  on  the  chair  beside  her  bed. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  "you've  been  good.  Go  on  being 
good,  and  you  won't  find  it  so  difficult." 

"Are  Doctor  Bracy  and  the  magistrate  coming  to  see 
me?"  Cathy  asked. 

"Later  on  they  will  see  you.  You're  to  get  up  now,  and 
you  can  go  out  into  the  grounds." 

Cathy  felt  as  though  the  gates  of  hell  had  opened,  and 
that  she  was  close  to  her  freedom  once  again. 

It  surprised  her  to  see  that  all  her  clothes  had  been 
stamped  with  the  asylum  stamp,  but  it  would  have  taken  a 
great  deal  more  than  that  to  damp  her  spirits.  Cathy  had 
a  strong  strain  of  resistance  in  her  nature,  and  her  cour- 
age was  of  a  durable  quality.  At  the  thought  of  release, 
she  was  able  to  forget  the  horrors  of  the  past  week.  She 
dressed  with  the  help  of  the  attendant,  and  was  brought 
through  the  long  corridors,  and  through  Ward  II,  where  a 
group  of  witless  people  stared  at  her,  and  one  woman  ran 
after  her,  and  begged  her  to  listen  to  her  story.  The  doors 
which  opened  into  Ward  I  were  eventually  reached,  and 
the  effect  of  the  place  struck  her  again.  Compared  with 
the  dingy  surroundings  of  the  infirmary  ward,  the  place  she 
now  found  herself  in  was  little  short  of  gorgeous.  In  the 
passages  and  vestibules  there  were  comfortable  sofas,  and 
tables  spread  with  papers.  Two  large  airy  drawing-rooms 
were  at  the  disposal  of  the  patients,  and  she  heard  the 
click  of  billiard  balls  coming  from  behind  another  door. 
She  was  shown  into  a  cheerful  bedroom,  entirely  different 


304  CATHY  ROSSITER 

to  her  former  cell.  The  dining-hall  was,  so  she  learnt,  in 
another  part  of  the  house.  Agnes  began  to  arrange  her 
clothes  in  the  wardrobe. 

"Don't  do  that,"  Cathy  said  gaily;  "it's  waste  of  time, 
Agnes.  I  leave  here  to-day,  as  soon  as  I  have  seen  the 
magistrate." 

The  attendant  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  like  to  disap- 
point you,"  she  said  sympathetically,  "but,  if  I  were  you, 
I  would  not  count  on  it.  They  may  want  you  a  bit  longer." 

Cathy's  spirits  fell.  She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her 
bed,  and  her  heart  beat  painfully.  It  was  discouraging,  but 
she  refused  to  believe  it.  Surely  they  must  know  that  she 
was  not  mad.  She  had  endured  the  sickening  horror  of  the 
infirmary  ward  without  complaint,  she  had  obeyed  orders 
and  had  given  no  trouble.  All  this  must  tell  in  her  favour, 
and  she  cast  off  her  momentary  distress. 

"I  am  sure  it  is  all  right,"  she  said.  "Let  me  have  my 
hat.  It's  so  long  since  I  was  out  in  the  fresh  air." 

Agnes  gave  her  a  wide  garden  hat,  and  looked  at  her 
with  unveiled  admiration  as  she  put  it  on.  Outside  the 
door  the  servants  sang  or  whistled  at  their  task,  and  a  bell 
was  rung  somewhere  in  the  building. 

"That  is  for  the  walk,"  Agnes  explained.  "I'm  'on  you,' 
as  we  call  it,  and  it's  time  to  go  out." 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  go,"  Cathy  said,  hesitating  at  the 
door.  "Will  the  others  all  be  there  ?  I  don't  want  to  walk 
with  them,  please,  Agnes." 

"Time  for  your  walk,  ladies,"  a  voice  was  speaking  au- 
thoritatively along  the  passage,  and  Cathy  heard  a  scuffle  of 
feet  and  the  confused  murmur  of  voices,  some  loud  and 
some  low,  but  all  confused  and  jumbled  into  an  ugly,  in- 
coherent sound. 

"No,  I'm  not  going,"  she  said,  and  she  took  off  her  hat. 
"I'll  wait  here.  Will  you  go  and  tell  Doctor  Bracy  that  I 
am  ready  to  see  him?" 

Agnes  picked  up  the  hat  again  and  held  it  out  to  Cathy. 

"Now,  don't  give  trouble.  You  only  got  out  of  the  in- 
firmary a  few  minutes  ago.  Do  you  want  to  be  sent  to 


CATHY  ROSSITER  305 

Ward  II  ?  The  place  you  came  through  ?  I  thought  not," 
as  Cathy  shrank  away  and  shuddered. 

"But,  you  see,  I'm  not  a  patient  any  longer,"  she  said 
persuasively.  "It  isn't  as  if  I  had  anything  to  say  to  the 
rules." 

"Until  I  am  told  that  you  are  free  I  must  do  my  duty." 

Cathy  submitted  to  the  inevitable.  The  idea  of  a  walk  in 
the  company  of  a  whole  band  of  lunatics  was  alarming 
enough,  but  at  any  rate  it  could  not  be  as  bad  as  the  awful, 
sordid  indecency  of  her  past  experience.  She  was  to  be 
ordered  about  and  directed  until  the  last  moment,  and  fear 
of  jeopardising  her  chances  of  escape  made  her  obey. 

She  walked  through  the  hall,  the  attendant  behind  her, 
and  was  hurried  onwards  to  join  the  procession  of  people 
now  winding  its  way  along  a  wide  path  through  the  grounds. 
For  a  moment  she  stood  and  looked  back  at  it.  Outwardly, 
it  was  picturesque;  an  old,  red-brick  house,  very  large  and 
covered  with  creepers.  At  the  back  there  was  another  wing> 
and  that  part  of  the  house  looked  desolate  and  ill  cared  for. 
Cathy  concluded  that  it  was  there  the  cheap  wards  were 
situated,  where  poor  lunatics,  whose  people  were  unable  to 
afford  the  luxury  of  the  house  itself,  were  hidden  away. 
What  sort  of  state  was  theirs,  she  wondered  pitifully?  It 
was  like  some  dreadful,  secret  place  for  penitents,  where  the 
hours  of  the  day  were  divided  as  though  in  the  house  of  a 
perverted  religious  order.  They  were  physically  isolated 
from  the  world,  and  the  waving  trees  and  the  wide  glorious 
sky  overhead  accentuated  the  contrast. 

The  poor  waifs  of  circumstance  drifted  on  in  their  walk, 
and  Cathy  lingered  behind,  watching  them.  Just  in  front 
of  her,  there  was  a  woman  with  white  hair,  who  looked 
as  though  her  life  might  have  been  a  good,  useful  one,  but 
some  break  in  the  tissues  of  her  brain  had  doomed  her  to 
the  eventless  idleness  of  the  asylum.  Some  event,  too 
strong  in  its  demands,  must  have  overtaken  and  crushed 
so  many  of  the  patients.  Some  were  grotesquely  clothed. 
One  woman,  who  hurried  on  as  though  she  was  pursued  by 
a  whip  lash,  wore  an  expensive  dress,  flung  on  in  absolute 
disorder,  her  silk  stockings  were  in  holes,  and  her  shoes 


306  CATHY  ROSSITER 

trodden  down  at  the  heel.  Her  hat,  decorated  with  a  huge 
feather,  was  pinned  on  the  back  of  her  head,  and  as  she 
walked  she  gave  vent  to  sighs  and  groans  or  rude  laughter, 
and  seemed  to  be  unaware  that  she  was  not  alone.  Many 
were  quiet  and  orderly,  and  these,  she  supposed,  had  spent 
years  there.  They  knew  all  the  rules  as  well  as  the  ward- 
resses, and  they  knew  exactly  how  to  behave,  until  some 
crisis  caught  them,  when  they  suffered  the  penalty  of  degra- 
dation to  the  infirmary  or  the  padded  cell.  Surely,  in  all 
God's  world,  there  was  no  sadder  place  than  this?  People 
who  were  unmanageable  anywhere  else  were  made  to  learn 
to  be  manageable  here.  The  high  wralls  closed  them  in,  and, 
if  there  was  no  special  unkindness,  there  was  the  indiffer- 
ence of  paid  service,  wholly  devoid  of  love.  The  wretched 
conclave,  of  which  she  was  one,  was  chiefly  composed  of 
the  weak  of  intellect  and  the  strong  of  passion ;  waste  flot- 
sam of  the  world  of  twilight  minds.  She  had  been  told 
again  and  again  by  her  attendants  that  the  Grange  was  a 
happy  place  for  lunatics.  Lunatics  were  not  like  other  folk. 
But,  in  Cathy's  eyes,  it  was  the  most  heart-breaking  sight 
she  had  ever  witnessed.  These  people  were  caricatures, 
ghosts  of  themselves,  and  the  disaster  of  sane  men  and 
women  of  sensitive  mind  finding  themselves  so  placed  was 
hideous  to  consider.  She  was  leaving  those  aisles  of  tor- 
ment that  day,  and  she  had  pity  and  to  spare  for  the  rest. 
Again  she  watched  the  strange  line  of  which  she  made 
the  last.  Here  and  there  she  was  struck  by  the  sight  of  the 
survival  of  lost  dignity,  the  touch  of  some  wan  grace  which 
had  once  made  its  owner  distinctive  and  charming;  the  in- 
describable signs  of  birth  and  breeding,  unconquered  yet  by 
the  passing  days.  But  it  was  not  only  the  external  sight  of 
her  companions  which  touched  Cathy  to  the  depth  of  her 
soul.  The  faces  she  saw  were  strange,  and,  with  only  a 
few  exceptions,  bondage  had  marked  them  with  its  image 
and  superscription.  From  all  manner  of  varied  beginnings, 
and  with  differing  conditions  and  differing  life  stories  be- 
hind them,  they  were  caught  and  grouped  together  at  last. 
They  were  out  for  exercise,  not  for  anything  else,  and 
Cathy  walked  on  beside  a  woman  who  shuffled  as  though 


CATHY  ROSSITER  307 

hopelessly  weary  already.  Units  of  the  army  of  the  mad. 
She  became  hypnotised  by  the  sight  of  the  crowd  ahead  of 
her.  They  were  coerced  into  exercise,  and  they  showed  it 
by  their  walk,  as  they  rushed  in  urgent  bursts  of  activity, 
or  slouched  and  dragged,  like  unwilling  children  on  the  way 
to  school.  They  progressed  in  no  kind  of  order,  and  each 
one  bore  a  burden,  to  the  sound  of  steady  footsteps.  The 
incorrigible  lunatic  was  not  among  them,  and  the  quiet 
ones  were  terribly  pacific ;  there  were  others  also,  shy  and 
furtive,  who  snatched  at  one  another  and  giggled  inanely. 
Cathy  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  sky;  she  still  had  hope,  and 
the  comrades  in  her  misfortune  had  only  despair.  As  she 
walked  along,  she  was  spoken  to  suddenly  by  a  slight  young 
woman  with  clear  grey  eyes. 

"You  are  a  newcomer,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  sym- 
pathetic. "I  am  afraid  it  is  all  very  hard  for  you  to  bear." 

"I  expect  to  leave  to-day,"  Cathy  said,  smiling  at  her. 
"My  being  here  at  all  is  a  mistake." 

"Then,  let  me  warn  you  that  it  is  a  very  dangerous  mis- 
take," the  woman  with  the  grey  eyes  spoke  again.  "I  am 
also  a  victim  of  the  same  kind.  Be  very  careful  what  you 
say  to  Doctor  Bracy." 

She  talked  on,  explaining  to  Cathy  that  her  best  chance 
lay  in  being  quiet.  She  herself  had  come  there  to  go 
through  a  rest  cure  after  a  bad  nervous  breakdown,  and  had 
been  assured  that  she  would  be  practically  at  liberty.  The 
facts  were  far  otherwise.  Her  uncle  had  petitioned  for 
her  certification,  and,  after  a  time  in  the  infirmary  ward, 
she  had  been  informed  that  she  was  mad.  She  told  Cathy 
that  her  name  was  Veronica  Trench.  "Once  the  stigma 
of  lunacy  is  branded  upon  any  living  soul,  you  will  find, 
as  I  have  found,  that  no  one  will  listen  to  you,"  she  said. 

"But  the  magistrate  whom  I  am  to  see?"  Cathy  asked 
faintly.  She  felt  unnerved  and  shaken. 

"They  are  all  the  same ;  you  and  I  are  outcasts." 

"I  am  to  see  Doctor  Bracy  when  I  get  in,"  Cathy  said 
anxiously. 

"The  visits  of  the  doctors  are  only  a  farce,"  Miss  Trench 
said,  with  evident  reluctance.  "It  is  no  use  for  me  to  give 


3o8  CATHY  ROSSITER 

you  false  hopes.  They  make  no  effort  to  speak  privately  to 
any  patient,  and  I  shall  be  surprised  if  you  get  two  minutes 
with  him.  You  will  want  all  your  courage,"  she  added,  and 
Cathy  gripped  her  hand  silently. 

The  walk  terminated  at  last,  and  they  were  gathered 
again  in  the  vestibule,  as  it  was  time  for  lunch.  Every- 
where there  were  the  voices  of  attendants  calling  to  their 
patients  or  to  one  another,  and  again  they  were  herded 
into  line.  A  woman  with  a  flushed  face  and  liquid  eyes 
caught  Cathy  round  the  waist  and  addressed  her  as  "Darl- 
ing." "Why  can't  I  be  happy?"  she  moaned,  and  began 
to  roll  her  head  wildly,  until  her  attendant  pounced  upon 
her  and  restored  her  to  order.  Once  again  doors  were 
locked  and  unlocked,  and  the  procession  passed  through 
Ward  II,  the  patients  driven  along  by  the  warders  and 
wardresses,  for  there  were  now  a  number  of  men  added 
to  the  crowd.  At  the  end  of  one  of  the  passages  there  was 
a  huge  mirror  which  reflected  the  throng,  and  Cathy  caught 
sight  of  her  own  picture  in  its  length.  Was  it  really  she? 
Was  this  Cathy  Rossiter?  She  averted  her  look  at  once 
and  hurried  on  with  bent  head. 

The  dining-hall  was  a  large,  lofty  room,  hung  with  good 
pictures,  and  in  the  centre  a  long  table  was  laid.  Some  of 
the  patients  rushed  to  their  places,  and  began  to  seize  the 
slices  of  bread  already  lying  there.  The  woman  in  the 
gorgeous  clothes,  whose  hands  were  dirty  and  covered  with 
rings,  ate  ravenously  and  talked  with  her  mouth  stuffed  to 
( overflowing. 

Swept  by  a  fit  of  revulsion  too  strong  to  conquer,  Cathy 
pushed  back  her  chair.  "Let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  she  said 
desperately,  and  Agnes  came  to  her  side  and  replaced  her 
at  once. 

"No  noise  there,"  a  voice  of  command  spoke  sternly,  and 
Cathy  felt  that  the  people  around  the  table  all  cowered  at 
the  sound. 

"It  is  impossible  for  me  to  stay  here,"  she  repeated. 
"Where  is  Doctor  Bracy?  I  must  see  him  at  once." 

"I'll  have  to  report  you  if  you  go  on  like  this,"  Agnes 
said,  tightening  her  grasp.  "Sit  down  and  keep  quiet." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  309 

Cathy  looked  about  her  uncertainly,  and  then  she  caught 
the  eye  of  Veronica  Trench.  Everyone  was  looking  at  her, 
and  the  woman  with  the  large  hat  seemed  as  though  she 
might  break  out  into  some  show  of  violence,  for  she  ham- 
mered the  table  with  her  clenched  fists. 

They  had  subdued  her,  and  she  sat  down  again,  but  she 
could  eat  nothing,  and  though  Agnes  spoke  to  her  sharply, 
she  made  no  reply.  Once  again  the  memory  of  Lor  rimer 
and  Monica  was  awake  within  her.  They  had  brought  her 
to  this,  and  they  had  placed  her  here.  Still  she  held  on  to 
her  only  hope,  the  visit  from  the  magistrate.  She  would 
surely  be  away  from  it  all  in  a  few  hours  now,  and  there 
was  nothing  which  could  be  accounted  mad  in  desiring  to 
leave  such  company. 

After  lunch,  the  inmates  of  the  Grange  who  were  on 
parole  went  off  into  the  village,  and  the  others,  who  were 
accounted  sane  enough  to  enjoy  a  moderate  freedom,  sat 
on  the  lawn.  Cathy  found  her  friend,  and  took  courage  as 
she  placed  herself  beside  her.  Doctor  Bracy  had  not  come, 
and  the  time  was  dragging  on. 

"It  will  make  me  very  late,"  Cathy  said,  "not  that  any- 
thing matters  once  I  get  out." 

"Build  upon  nothing,"  Miss  Trench  said  emphatically; 
"only,  above  all  things,  keep  from  any  outburst.  I  have 
asked  them  to  let  me  sit  beside  you  at  meals;  that  will  be 
better  for  us  both." 

In  the  end,  Doctor  Bracy  did  come,  and  he  strolled  up 
to  where  Cathy  was  sitting. 

"Well,  and  how  are  we?"  he  asked  genially.  "I  am 
going  to  suggest  that  you  should  do  some  gardening,  Mrs. 
Lorrimer." 

Cathy  tried  to  smile  up  at  him.  "But  I  am  going  away, 
once  I  have  seen  the  magistrate,"  she  said.  "You  promised 
me  that,  Doctor  Bracy." 

"I  promised  you  ?  Oh,  no,  I  think  not.  You  are  out  of 
the  infirmary,  you  have  a  nice  room,  and  you  will  be  very 
comfortable  here." 

She  looked  around  her,  and  back  at  his  red,  good-tem- 
pered face. 


3io  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"You're  likely  to  be  here  for  a  little  longer,"  he  said. 
"Now,  I  must  be  off.  How  are  you,  Miss  Trench?  Get- 
ting over  it,  eh?" 

"I  am  waiting,"  Veronica  Trench  said  quietly. 

"But  you  don't  mean  that  you  consider  me  mad?"  Cathy 
asked.  She  had  got  up  from  her  chair,  and  she  caught  his 
arm,  for  he  seemed  as  though  he  had  no  intention  of  re- 
maining there. 

"I  warn  you,"  he  said,  "that  your  chance  of  leaving  here 
depends  largely  upon  yourself.  Don't  excite  yourself,  Mrs. 
Lorrimer,  it  does  no  good." 

"Then  you  say  that  I  am  insane  ?"  The  colour  had  flown 
from  her  face  and  she  was  deathly  white. 

"You  have  been  certified,  it's  a  fact,"  he  said  briefly,  and 
Cathy  made  no  further  attempt  to  stay  him  now. 

For  a  day  or  two  Cathy  worked  frantically  in  the  garden, 
hoping  to  exhaust  herself  sufficiently  to  induce  sleep,  but 
her  thoughts  gave  her  no  rest,  and  her  eyes  looked  haunted. 
She  had  still  one  hope  left  in  the  Pandora's  box,  and  she 
could  not  let  herself  doubt  its  certainty.  The  weather  kept 
gloriously  fine,  so  that  she  was  able  to  be  out  of  doors 
all  day,  and  Dr.  Bracy,  who  now  and  then  hovered  near 
her,  told  her  not  to  think  of  herself,  but  to  take  an  interest 
in  games,  or  in  the  work  upon  which  she  was  employed. 
Other  patients  condoled  with  her,  telling  her  that  anyone 
who  was  sent  out  to  garden,  was  invariably  kept  there  for 
a  long  period ;  it  was  regarded  by  them  all  as  a  bad  sign,  but 
Cathy  tried  to  close  her  ears. 

She  had  been  weeding  in  a  violet  bed  one  afternoon,  and 
cutting  the  long  straggly  runners  with  considerable  skill  and 
knowledge,  under  close  observation  all  the  time,  when  Agnes 
was  called  by  one  of  the  house  servants,  and  to  her  sur- 
prise Cathy  was  informed  that  there  was  a  visitor  to  see 
her.  She  lifted  her  flushed  face  and  stared  incredulously, 
and  for  one  moment  she  thought  that  it  was  perhaps  Aunt 
Amy.  Aunt  Amy  might  come  to  her,  even  if  she  believed 
her  mad ;  and  that  thought  was  followed  rapidly  by  another. 
"What  if  it  were  Monica."  If  it  were,  she  would  plead 


CATHY  ROSSITER  311 

with  her,  and  pray  her  to  use  all  her  power  to  get  her  re- 
lease. She  threw  aside  her  leather  gloves  and  went  towards 
the  house,  and  as  she  crossed  the  hall  where  many  of  the 
patients  were  sitting  in  the  deep,  comfortable  chairs,  talking 
together,  she  noticed  that  they  whispered  and  looked  at 
her  with  queer  inquisitive  glances,  as  though  they  too  were 
interested. 

When  she  was  shown  into  a  small,  dark  room  down  a 
passage,  and  rather  away  from  the  reception  rooms  of  the 
house,  her  heart  was  beating  violently,  and  to  her  surprise 
she  saw  a  stranger  sitting  at  a  table.  He  was  an  elderly 
man  with  a  beard  and  loose,  grey  clothes,  and  he  looked  at 
her  rather  awkwardly  as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  Cathy 
stood  silently  watching  him. 

"I  am  Pratt,"  he  said,  and  he  avoided  her  eyes.  "Charles 
Pratt,  Justice  of  the  Peace.  You  sent  me  a  communica- 
tion  " 

Cathy  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  a  wave  of  joy 
swept  her,  and  she  advanced  impetuously. 

"You  are  the  magistrate,  and  you  have  come  at  last." 
She  made  an  impulsive  movement  with  her  hands,  and  then 
realised  with  a  touch  of  dismay  that  he  was  falling  back  a 
step.  With  all  his  look  of  bad-tempered  dignity,  he  was 
anything  but  comfortable  in  her  presence. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  and  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  speak 
soothingly.  "What  is  your  complaint?  What  have  you  to 
say?" 

Cathy  sat  down  and  gripped  the  arms  of  her  chair  with 
tense  hands.  She  must  be  careful — careful. 

"I'm  here  through  a  dreadful  mistake,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Pratt  seated  himself,  and  rubbed  his  spectacles  with 
a  silk  handkerchief;  he  seemed  to  take  her  statement  for 
granted,  but  he  spoke  quite  kindly. 

"My  dear  lady,  I  want  the  details,"  he  glanced  at  her 
again. 

"I  have  been  accused  of  trying  to  take  my  life,"  she  said 
earnestly,  leaning  forward  and  looking  at  him  with  her 
wide  clear  eyes.  "Yes,  of  suicide." 


3i2  CATHY  ROSSITER 

She  read  horror  in  his  glance,  and  translated  it  into  sym- 
pathy. 

"Dreadful,"  he  said  emphatically.  "Perfectly  dreadful. 
Do  you  not  know  that  such  an  act,  besides  being  a  sin,  is 
also  a  felony?  You  might  have  to  appear  in  the  Police 
Courts."  He  looked  intensely  affronted.  "You  probably 
are  not  aware  of  this?" 

Cathy  frowned  a  little,  and  began  again. 

"I  never  did  try  to  take  my  life,"  she  said  gathering  her 
courage  once  more.  "I  want  to  make  you  understand  that 
the  doctor  who  certified  me  was  mistaken.  .  .  ." 

"Doctors,"  corrected  Mr.  Pratt.    "There  must  be  two." 

Cathy  drew  a  deep  breath.  What  was  her  case  worth, 
now  she  had  come  to  state  it  ?  Yet  this  man  held  her  whole 
future  between  his  hands,  and  compared  to  the  irritable 
frigidity  of  Mr.  Pratt,  Dr.  Bracy  appeared  almost  an  ally. 
She  could  see  that  Mr.  Pratt  was  angry  because  he  had 
been  sent  for,  and  she  began  to  tell  herself  that  she  must 
try  some  other  method  with  him. 

"A  man  like  you,"  she  began  again,  "will  easily  under- 
stand that  some  circumstances  are  impossible  to  explain. 
I  could  not  speak  of  myself  to  the  people  here,  but  there 
was  trouble,"  she  paused,  and  looked  down,  it  was  so  hard 
to  speak  of  this,  but  perhaps  there  was  some  hope  that  the 
grey  man  who  looked  at  her  sideways  and  looked  away 
again,  might  be  pitiful. 

"Trouble,  of  what  nature?" 

"My  husband  and  I  had  a  difference  of  opinion,  and  the 
woman  who  certified  me — my  greatest  friend,  I  believed — 
wanted  me  out  of  the  way.  I  did  take  an  overdose  of  a 
sleeping  draught,  but  that  I  can  explain — I  thought  it  harm- 
less. The  following  day  I  was  perfectly  well,  and  without 
the  smallest  idea  of  what  was  arranged,  I  was  taken  from 
home,  and  brought  here."  Her  voice  faltered.  "I  can 
hardly  give  you  any  idea  of  what  I  felt." 

"Very  sad  indeed,"  Mr.  Pratt  remarked.  "Dreadfully 
sad.  But  on  the  other  hand,  imagine  what  it  would  be  for  a 
lady  like  you  to  appear  in  a  police  court."  He  was  ob- 
viously horrified  at  the  thought  and  he  repeated  it  again, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  313 

while  Cathy  felt  her  hope  die  down,  and  then  recover  once 
more. 

"Could  I  be  tried  for  it  ?"  she  asked,  her  whole  face  light- 
ing at  once.  "If  so,  why  has- this  not  been  done?  Even  if  I 
were  convicted,  I  should  not  care.  .  .  ." 

Mr.  Pratt  raised  a  protesting  hand.  "I  can  only  give 
you  five  minutes  more,"  he  said,  laying  his  watch  on  the 
table,  "and  I  must  ask  you  to  reconsider  your  words.  You 
would  have  been  sent  to  prison  instead  of  to  this  really 
delightful  place,  and  think  of  the  disgrace.  Besides,  you 
have  no  idea  of  what  it  would  be  like." 

"I  never  tried  to  take  my  life,"  she  said  helplessly,  "and 
I  was  trapped." 

Mr..  Pratt  shook  his  head.  "I  know  nothing  of  that,"  he 
said  firmly,  "but  I  regard  suicide  as  a  very  grave  and  terrible 
act,  and  though  I  am  extremely  sorry  for  you,  I  can  only 
say  that  I  have  not  received  a  shred  of  real  evidence  to 
prove  that  you  are  innocent  of  this  attempt.  Please  do 
not  misunderstand  me,  Mrs —  "  he  glanced  at  the  paper, 
"Mrs.  Lorrimer,  I  know  that  I  have  your  word,  but  I  also 
have  the  word  of  the  doctors  who  thought  otherwise." 

He  got  up  and  took  a  soft  hat  from  the  table,  replacing 
his  watch  in  his  pocket,  and  Cathy  ran  between  him  and  the 
door.  "You  can't  mean  that  you  will  do  nothing?"  she  said, 
holding  her  arms  out  to  bar  his  passage,  and  then  she  saw 
his  face  change.  He  was  afraid  of  her  once  more,  and  he 
walked  quickly  to  the  bell  and  rang  it  violently.  Agnes 
came  in  response  to  the  summons,  and  Mr.  Pratt  wished 
Cathy  good  evening,  and  with  a  renewal  of  his  former  dig- 
nity, left  the  room,  as  she  stood  watching  him  with  re- 
proachful eyes. 

Agnes  touched  her  arm,  but  Cathy  did  not  stir,  an  over- 
powering sense  of  faintness  seized  her,  and  before  the  at- 
tendant could  catch  her  in  her  arms,  she  fell  heavily  on  to 
the  floor.  Her  last  hope  had  vanished  with  the  grey,  self- 
satisfied  man,  who  looked  always  a  little  angry  with  every- 
one he  met. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

As  the  months  passed  slowly  by,  Cathy  lost  all  hope.  No 
answer  had  come  to  any  of  the  letters  she  wrote  to  Monica 
or  Lorrimer,  and  she  felt  that  she  had  nowhere  to  turn. 
The  magistrate,  Mr.  Pratt,  had  done  nothing,  and  an  appeal 
she  made  to  the  Commissioners  had  been  left  to  gather  the 
dust  in  some  pigeon  hole  in  an  official  desk.  As  Monica 
and  Lorrimer  appeared  to  her  to  be  the  only  people  who 
could  help  her,  she  refrained  from  writing  to  her  aunt  or 
any  of  her  old  friends.  A  new  sense  of  dread  had  come 
over  her,  and  because  she  knew  that  she  expressed  herself 
wildly,  she  feared  that,  were  she  to  write  to  them,  they 
might  attribute  all  she  said  to  delusions.  Monica  and  Jack 
knew  otherwise,  and  if  they  had  any  pity,  they  might  accord 
her  the  peace  of  oblivion  which  she  had  demanded  of  them. 
The  papers  had  informed  her  that  Lorrimer  was  now  a 
Baronet  and  had  received  signal  honours,  and  from  that 
time  onwards  Doctor  Bracy  addressed  her  as  "Lady  Lorri- 
mer," and  seemed  to  be  impressed  by  her  title. 

From  Cathy's  standpoint,  the  crowning  touch  had  been 
placed  upon  the  huge  erection  of  shams  and  false  protests, 
for  it  bade  her  recall  the  times  when  Lorrimer  had  talked 
with  heat  upon  all  these  subjects,  and  had  sworn  to  her 
that  his  own  pride  would  forbid  him  to  accept  any  such 
tinsel  crown.  In  an  interview  described  by  an  enthusiastic 
journalist  in  an  evening  paper,  Cathy  read  that  her  husband, 
the  erstwhile  pioneer  of  simplicity  and  plain  ways,  had 
described  himself  as  "overcome  by  the  proof  of  confidence 
and  appreciation  of  his  services"  which  was  so  signally 
bestowed  upon  him ;  and  she  wondered  if  there  was  any- 
thing real  about  him  anywhere  ? 

Veronica  Trench  had  seen  Cathy  through  the  tempest 
of  recollection  which  followed  upon  the  news,  and  did  her 

314 


CATHY  ROSSITER  315 

best  to  quiet  and  console  her.  She  also  begged  her  to  make 
no  objection  to  using  Lorrimer's  name,  and  to  drop  the  de- 
termined attitude  she  had  taken  up  when  she  refused  to 
answer  unless  spoken  to  as  "Miss  Rossiter."  "Can't  you 
understand,"  she  said  earnestly,  "that  in  an  asylum,  every- 
thing is  attributed  to  the  same  cause  ?" 

Winter  had  worn  through,  and  spring  had  come  back  to 
the  world  when  Veronica  Trench  left  Welldon  Grange, 
and  Cathy  was  abandoned  to  a  more  complete  loneliness 
than  before.  She  realised  that  there  was  no  actual  un- 
kindness  in  the  hearts  of  the  men  and  women  who  were 
the  officials  of  the  place,  and  she  had  no  complaint  to  make 
of  ill  treatment.  It  was  the  system  which  they  obeyed  that 
lay  over  the  inmates  like  a  blight.  There  was  no  hope,  no 
help,  nothing  to  look  forward  to,  and  lying  awake  at  night, 
Cathy  began  to  think  of  the  possibility  of  escape.  In  her 
haphazard  way,  she  gave  no  special  attention  to  detail.  If 
luck  favoured  her  she  could  trust  to  it  once  she  got  out 
into  the  road;  the  road  that  ran  free  beyond  the  asylum 
gates.  Always  she  thought  of  the  road,  and  it  promised 
her  the  way  of  escape,  if  she  could  only  get  there.  Cathy 
was  incapable  of  detail  at  the  best  of  times,  and  her  months 
of  incarceration  during  which  she  was  living  entirely  under 
rule,  had  deprived  her  of  the  quickness  of  wit  which  such 
a  venture  demanded.  Her  attendant,  Agnes,  was  a  kindly 
girl,  but  Cathy  did  not  dare  to  give  her  the  smallest  hint 
of  her  design.  It  would  not,  she  felt,  be  fair  to  involve 
anyone  else,  and  she  had  always  believed  in  facing  life 
without  dragging  others  into  the  melee.  For  this  reason 
also,  she  had  declined  to  be  put  on  "parole,"  as  she  could 
not  break  her  pledged  word;  but  the  thought  of  escape 
lured  her  eternally,  and  she  thought  of  little  else. 

Agnes  was  a  voracious  reader  of  novels,  and  Cathy  de- 
cided to  make  the  attempt  one  day  when  her  attendant  was 
completely  absorbed  in  her  book.  They  usually  sat  in  a 
distant  part  of  the  grounds,  because  Cathy  felt  better  when 
she  was  well  out  of  the  way  of  her  fellow  patients. 

As  they  walked  to  the  seat  in  a  bower  of  spring  lilac  not 
far  from  the  gates,  Cathy  had  leaped  suddenly  to  the  urgent 


316  CATHY  ROSSITER 

moment  of  action.  Agnes  carried  a  work-basket,  and  in  it 
there  was  a  small  pair  of  scissors  which  Cathy  fingered 
carelessly  as  she  pretended  to  sew.  Her  white  underskirt 
was  narrow,  and  she  must  manage  to  cut  off  the  frill  so 
that  her  movements  should  be  unhampered  and  free. 

"Aggy,  what  are  they  doing  now?"  she  asked  slipping 
the  scissors  into  her  pocket.  "I  love  the  way  you  take  them 
all  so  seriously,  these  people  in  books.  Do  you  see  that 
lemon  azalea  ?  It  is  flowering  weeks  too  soon,  and  I'm  going 
to  look  at  it."  She  got  up,  a  queer  tremor  in  her  nerves, 
and  wandered  away  slowly,  her  white  dress  shining  in  the 
sunlight,  and  her  graceful  walk  calling  up  a  look  of  ad- 
miration in  the  lifted  eyes  of  Agnes  the  wardress.  She 
should  have  followed  Lady  Lorrimer,  but  the  lure  of  the 
book  was  strong  and  she  sat  reading  steadily. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  looked  up  again,  and  though  she 
could  see  the  lemon  azalea,  there  was  no  sign  of  her  charge, 
and  she  felt  annoyed,  though  by  no  means  alarmed.  In  her 
secret  heart  Agnes  hardly  credited  the  fact  that  Lady  Lorri- 
mer was  mad,  but  she  knew  very  well  that  madness  conies 
and  goes  in  many  cases,  and  that  her  patient  might  not  be 
as  sane  as  she  appeared.  Still,  she  was  not  troubled.  She 
believed  that  Cathy  had  wandered  on,  like  a  white  butterfly, 
and  that  she  would  return.  She  had  only  half  a  dozen  pages 
to  read  to  finish  the  book,  so  she  read  on  and  closed  it  with 
a  sigh  of  envy.  Books  nearly  always  finished  happily,  and 
life,  as  displayed  before  her  eyes,  was  not  a  happy  place. 

After  searching  the  paths  and  coppice,  and  in  the  shrub- 
bery, Agnes  grew  thoroughly  alarmed,  and  when  she  called 
up  some  of  the  warders,  they  added  to  her  fears.  A  suicidal 
lunatic  is  hopelessly  untrustworthy,  and  there  might  be 
grave  danger  to  Lady  Lorrimer,  in  being  so  long  alone. 
High  or  low  there  was  no  trace  of  her  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood,  and  Agnes  discovered,  with  a  cry  of  alarm, 
that  her  scissors  were  missing.  She  was  frightened,  and 
the  whole  state  of  affairs  grew  ominous.  Search  of  a  more 
thorough  kind  became  necessary,  and  the  alarm  was  given, 
and  by  sundown  Cathy  was  discovered  hiding  close  to  the 
gates.  She  had  crouched  down  in  the  heart  of  a  deep  privet, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  317 

her  hair  was  loose  and  her  hat  gone.  As  the  searchers  fol- 
lowed her,  she  had  run  distractedly  from  place  to  place, 
wherever  the  bushes  gave  cover,  and  she  had  cut  her  petti- 
coat into  strips  and  her  lace  dress  was  ragged  and  torn. 

The  dreadful  excitement  of  the  chase  had  been  too  much 
for  her,  and  when  they  came  upon  her  she  fought  violently 
against  her  captors.  Weeping  hopelessly,  she  stood  at  bay 
while  they  sought  to  persuade  and  pacify  her.  She  saw 
herself  surrounded,  and  their  very  desire  to  reassure  her 
increased  her  sense  of  despair,  until  her  control  broke; 
and  when  Agnes  tried  to  take  her  gently  by  the  wrists,  Cathy 
struck  out  blindly.  Then  it  was  that  the  rush  came,  and  she 
was  overpowered  and  beaten  to  her  knees.  They  had  done 
their  best  not  to  hurt  her,  but  she  realised  that  they  all  now 
regarded  her  as  dangerously  mad ;  the  sorrowful  look  in  the 
eyes  of  Agnes  alone  would  have  told  her  that.  She  lay 
sobbing,  face  downwards  on  the  grass,  until  they  carried 
her  away. 

The  long  piece  of  cambric  torn  from  her  petticoat  was 
lying  on  the  ground,  and  Agnes  took  the  scissors  from  her 
silently.  Cathy's  liberty,  such  as  it  had  been,  was  ended, 
and  her  fate  looked  black  enough  to  cause  her  attendant 
nurse  real  sorrow  for  her. 

It  was  a  hopeless,  wretched  affair  from  beginning  to  end, 
and  the  odds  were  entirely  against  Cathy  Rossiter. 

From  the  comparative  peace  and  the  real  comfort  of  her 
late  surroundings,  Cathy  found  herself  led  moaning  feebly 
through  the  dreary  wilderness  of  Ward  III,  situated  on 
the  farthest  side  of  the  asylum ;  a  place  she  had  never  seen 
before.  It  was  here  that  the  incorrigible  lunatics  were 
kept  away,  and  the  decree  was  that  Cathy  now  belonged  to 
this  company  since,  once  again,  she  had  attempted  to  take 
her  life.  The  cambric  was  strong  enough  of  texture  for 
her  to  have  strangled  herself,  and  the  theft  of  the  scissors 
added  to  the  case  against  her. 

As  she  looked  dully  around  her,  she  realised  that  the 
sights  and  sounds  were  not  as  terrible  to  her  as  her  first 
experience;  she  had  grown  used  to  horror,  but  she  could 
not  believe  nor  understand  when  she  found  that  her  desti- 


318  CATHY  ROSSITER 

nation  was  the  padded  cell.  This  was  the  dark  shadow 
which  haunted  the  bravest  mind,  and  Veronica  had  warned 
her  never  to  do  anything  which  was  likely  to  make  her  way 
lie  there.  She  had  done  it  now,  and  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  the  wardress,  devoid  of  strength  and  bereft  of  courage, 
she  could  do  nothing  but  cry  helplessly  and  plead  in  vain. 

The  cell  was  small,  seven  feet  long  by  four  feet  wide,  and 
over  her  head  there  was  one  tiny  window,  too  high  to  reach 
with  her  hands.  A  memory  of  something  remembered  long 
ago  came  back  to  her,  and  she  recalled  how  she  had  sat  in 
the  waiting-room  with  the  gay  chintz  curtains,  and  thought 
of  the  prisoner  in  "Justice"  who  had  held  up  his  hands  to 
the  light.  At  last  she,  too,  had  come  to  this,  the  lowest  pit 
of  the  inferno,  where  faith  and  hope  were  slain.  She 
ceased  to  cry,  and  a  dull  stupor  overtook  her.  If  she  sent 
for  Doctor  Bracy  he  would  be  sorry  for  her,  but  explain 
that  it  was  her  own  fault.  In  the  same  way  Doctor  Chap- 
man would  not  be  unkind,  but  he  would  believe  that  his  in- 
exorable "system"  was  the  one  and  only  way  for  the  in- 
sane. 

At  last  the  door  opened,  making  a  clear  square  of  light 
in  the  blackness,  and  two  wardresses  came  in,  both  strangers 
to  her.  They  took  no  notice  of  her  when  she  cried  for 
Agnes,  and  asked  that  she  should  be  sent  to  her,  but  strip- 
ping her  quickly,  with  the  competence  of  long  habit,  they 
continued  a  conversation  about  their  own  affairs.  One  of 
them,  she  gathered,  as  they  turned  and  held  her  hands  out 
of  the  way,  was  shortly  to  be  married,  and  was  exuberantly 
happy  at  the  prospect. 

They  treated  her  like  a  child  in  disgrace,  and  clad  her 
finally  in  a  coarse  chemise,  which  the  elder  wardress  of 
the  two  told  her  she  could  not  tear  or  fashion  into  a  rope; 
therefore,  as  there  was  nothing  about  for  her  to  do  herself 
a  mischief,  she  would  be  safe  enough. 

They  laid  her  bedding  on  the  floor.  A  mattress  covered 
with  ticking  and  a  coarse  ticking  sheet,  and  the  door  was 
shut  behind  them.  The  happy  wardress  and  the  sour  one 
were  both  indifferent  to  her  state,  and  Cathy  gripped  her 
arms  until  she  felt  the  blood  come  through.  It  was  as 


CATHY  ROSSITER  319 

though,  quite  suddenly,  a  fearful  and  strange  idea  was 
present  to  her  mind.  What  if  it  was  true?  What  if  this 
that  all  the  rest  believed  of  her  were  really  the  case,  and  she 
was  mad?  The  fancy  jeered  at  her  and  defied  her,  and 
she  clasped  her  hands  on  her  aching  head.  Doctor 
Chapman,  Doctor  Bracy,  the  wardresses  and  the  silent 
world  which  left  her  to  her  fate,  agreed  about  it. 
She  alone  refused  to  believe  it,  but  she  was  losing  her  cour- 
age, and  the  thought  that  she  had  drifted  to  the  waste  places 
where  the  wanderers  roamed  in  their  misery,  became  op- 
pressive and  awful.  She  was  mad  then  ?  Even  though  she 
knew  that  she  had  never  tried  to  take  her  life  ?  Yet  if  she 
could  now  find  the  means  to  end  it  all,  she  knew  that  she 
might  use  them. 

At  evening  Cathy  was  called  out  of  her  cell,  like  an  ani- 
mal out  of  its  cage,  to  eat  her  food  at  a  table  opposite  her 
door,  but  the  change  brought  no  relief.  Around  her  there 
was  confusion  and  strife,  and  the  inmates  of  Ward  III  gave 
the  wardresses  as  much  as  they  could  do  to  keep  them  in 
check.  The  devils  danced  here  with  utter  shamelessness, 
and  Cathy  closed  her  eyes  and  pushed  away  her  plate.  She 
looked  like  a  woman  out  of  the  Middle  Ages,  who  had  been 
accused  of  sorcery,  sitting  in  her  wretched  garment,  with 
her  long  hair  in  two  great  plaits,  her  eyes  pitiful  and  haggard 
in  her  beautiful,  care-worn  face.  From  the  end  of  the  pas- 
sage a  woman  had  been  watching  her,  mouthing  and  grin- 
ning, and  suddenly,  with  the  swiftness  of  an  arrow,  she 
flung  herself  upon  Cathy  and  emptied  over  her  shoulders 
a  jug  of  water  that  stood  near  her,  and  then  fell  to  thrash- 
ing her  with  a  towel. 

Under  the  attack,  Cathy  did  not  stir,  she  lay  forward  over 
the  small  table  and  submitted  mutely,  until  the  wardresses 
pulled  the  woman  off  and  stifled  her  shout  of  triumph.  The 
last  thing  had  indeed  happened  now,  and  Cathy  broke  into 
prayer.  Mad  people  often  prayed,  and  she  knew  that  she 
was  repeating  phrases  she  had  heard  the  others  use.  What 
did  it  matter?  Nothing  mattered  any  more,  for  she  had 
admitted  to  herself  that  she  was  mad.  Let  them  do  what 


320  CATHY  ROSSITER 

they  liked  to  her  since  the  hour  of  doom  had  struck  so 
irrevocably. 

And  so  the  days  and  nights  dragged  by,  and  Cathy  fought 
no  more.  Where  had  she  gone  ?  She  often  wondered  dimly 
and  repeated  the  words  she  had  loved: 

"John  York,  John  York,  where  have  you  gone,  John  York? 
King  of  my  heart,  King  of  my  heart,  I  am  out  on  the  trail  of  thy 
bugles" 

and  when  she  had  said  it  a  dozen  times  it  made  her  laugh  in 
her  black  cell  of  horror,  laugh  until  she  felt  quite  weak 
from  the  effort.  Doctor  Chapman  came  and  lectured  her,  in 
his  kind  and  God-fearing  way,  upon  the  crime  of  suicide, 
and  she  told  him,  in  a  fit  of  revolt,  that  she  had  done  it  all 
intentionally. 

"You  want  me  to  admit  I  am  mad?  I  admit  it.  I'm  as 
mad  as  Ophelia,  or  Hamlet;  as  mad  as  anyone  who  has  ever 
thought  things  out  and  told  the  truth,  as  mad  as  a  March 
hare,  Doctor  Chapman." 

He  had  said,  "Hush,  hush,  dear  lady,"  over  and  over 
again  and  gone  away  sorrowful. 

The  circle  of  her  thoughts  had  changed ;  she  did  not  care 
any  longer ;  nor  did  it  seem  to  matter  when  they  released  her 
again,  and  she  was  passed  through  the  various  stages,  back 
to  Agnes  and  her  old  room,  and  by  then  summer  had  come 
and  the  days  were  gloriously  fine  and  bright  once  more. 
She  was  so  gentle  and  quiet  that  Doctor  Bracy  missed  her 
former  fire,  and  rallied  her  often. 

"Don't  be  so  peaceable,  Lady  Lorrimer,"  he  said.  "Let's 
have  a  good  argument.  It  always  clears  the  air."  But 
Cathy  would  not  be  induced  to  argue. 

"You  all  say  I  am  mad,"  she  said,  "and  now  I  suppose 
I  am.  I  don't  much  care." 

When  the  Commissioners  went  their  rounds  she  hardly 
spoke  to  them.  They  would  not  believe  her,  and  it  was  use- 
lass  waste  of  energy.  She  would  never  get  out,  and  youth, 
withering  so  quickly,  would  turn  to  dull  age,  and  age  wear 
itself  out  to  death,  while  the  days  went  on  in  their  awful 
menotony.  Only  in  the  little  chapel  in  the  grounds  did 


CATHY  ROSSITER  321 

Cathy  ever  regain  some  touch  of  the  winged  sense  of  being 
lifted  up  above  the  cruelty  of  life,  and  there,  on  her  knees, 
she  tried  to  conquer  her  passionate  resentment  against 
Lorrimer  and  Monica.  If  she  could  put  that  away,  she 
knew  that  she  would  have  achieved  a  great  moral  victory. 
Her  body  was  caught  in  the  trap,  but  that  was  the  least  part 
of  her  martyrdom  if  she  could  truly  say,  "My  soul  is  es- 
caped as  a  bird  out  of  the  snare  of  the  fowler." 

She  believed  that  her  friends  counted  her  as  dead  to 
them ;  they  had  probably  -  accepted  the  story — everyone 
accepts  such  stories  without  question,  and  she  did  not  blame 
them.  In  truth  she  was  dead,  and  there  was  no  great  and 
glorious  resurrection  for  her.  She  had  changed  in  the  sense 
of  impaired  beauty ;  there  was  deep  sadness  in  her  blue  eyes, 
which  had  formerly  laughed  at  life,  and  a  certain  steadfast 
tensity  about  her  mouth.  She  seemed  to  seek  perpetually 
for  something  beyond  what  she  was  looking  at,  and  people 
pointed  her  out  and  whispered  together  about  her. 

Agnes,  now  her  devoted  attendant,  believed  her  to  be  a 
saint,  and  frequently  said  so.  The  soul  within  was  shining 
very  clearly  as  Cathy  trod  the  upward  way,  paved  with 
pain  and  heavy  with  grief,  but  when  Doctor  Chapman  spoke 
to  her  of  her  mental  state,  and  said  that  he  was  growing 
hopeful,  she  received  his  encouragement  listlessly  and  only 
shook  her  head. 

"It  hardly  matters  now,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  for- 
lorn and  weary.  "I  would  like  to  be  free,  but  it  is  too  late." 

"Oh,  no,  Lady  Lorrimer,  don't  get  that  idea  into  your 
head,"  he  said  encouragingly.  "There  is  such  a  thing  as 
morbidity;  I  don't  wish  to  have  to  report  of  you  that  you 
are  in  the  least  morbid." 

Cathy  smiled  suddenly  and  looked  at  him. 

"You  have  different  names  for  everything  here,"  she 
said.  "If  one  attempts  to  escape,  one  is  incorrigibly  insane; 
if  one  defends  oneself,  it  is  another  proof  of  lunacy ;  and  if 
one  becomes  patient,  it  means  that  you  are  morbid." 

"Keep  cheerful,"  he  said,  and  he  looked  at  her  sympa- 
thetically, for  he  was  really  sorry  for  Lady  Lorrimer,  and 
he  had  gone  so  far  as  to  hint  that  it  would  be  perfectly  safe 


322  CATHY  ROSSITER 

for  her  husband  to  visit  her.  His  hint  had  been  ignored, 
and  it  distressed  him.  According  to  the  law,  Lorrimer  or 
some  qualified  person  should  come,  but  no  one  came.  There 
was  such  a  hopeless  prejudice  against  the  insane,  and  he 
supposed  Sir  John  Lorrimer  to  be  affected  by  it.  He  ex- 
cused himself  in  a  letter,  and  expressed  his  desire  that  the 
asylum  doctor  should  make  quite  sure  that  Lady  Lorrimer 
was  completely  recovered  before  she  was  released.  Doctor 
Chapman  pondered  over  the  letter  and  put  it  away.  Once 
she  was  cured,  he  wished  to  be  done  with  the  case,  and,  if 
her  husband  had  used  any  urgency,  he  was  prepared  to  let 
her  go  at  any  time.  Lorrimer  had  chosen,  however,  to  let 
the  decision  rest  wholly  and  entirely  with  him.  If  Lady 
Lorrimer  were  showing  signs  of  becoming  morbid,  she 
might  spend  another  year  at  the  Grange,  and  his  own  in- 
terests were  sufficiently  involved  to  make  him  regard  this 
as  quite  possible.  Agnes,  the  attendant,  frequently  said  that 
her  charge  was  entirely  sane,  except  for  her  natural  care- 
lessness about  her  clothes,  and  her  frequent  desire  to  pray 
alone  in  the  chapel  in  the  grounds.  Religious  mania  might 
be  taking  the  place  of  suicidal  mania,  and  time  alone  could 
tell  to  what  direction  Cathy's  inherent  weakness  might  tend. 
Others  had  friends  who  came  to  see  them ;  but  Cathy  seemed 
strangely  friendless.  Her  aunt,  Lady  Carstairs,  had  not 
written  to  her,  and  Doctor  Chapman  felt  angered  at  the  at- 
titude of  these  people,  who  cast  out  their  own  flesh  and 
blood  and  renounced  her,  because  they  regarded  insanity 
as  more  damaging  than  actual  crime.  He  became  more 
actively  attentive  to  her,  for,  somewhere  in  his  heart,  he 
was  not  altogether  satisfied. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

IT  took  Robert  Amyas  some  days  of  careful  thought  before 
he  could  formulate  any  definite  plan.  He  intended  to  see 
Cathy  and  to  get  into  Welldon  Grange.  He  had  thought 
of  writing  to  Doctor  Chapman,  asking  for  an  appointment 
to  discuss  the  case  of  some  imaginary  relative  whom  he 
proposed  to  place  under  lock  and  key;  but  he  gave  up  the 
idea,  as  he  fancied  that  he  might  only  get  as  far  as  the  con- 
sulting-room. He  wanted  to  investigate  the  whole  place, 
and  then  he  thought  of  something  which  promised  a  better 
chance. 

Robert  had  been  a  poet  of  the  minor  order,  and  at  times 
he  had  done  a  little  journalism.  He  was  well  known  to  sev- 
eral editors,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that,  if  he  visited  Well- 
don Grange  with  a  reporter's  notebook  in  his  hand  and  an 
introduction  from  a  well-known  weekly  paper,  he  could 
take  nearly  a  whole  day  in  the  asylum,  and  ask  as  many 
questions  as  he  pleased.  Doctors  had  a  universal  desire  to 
propitiate  the  Press,  and  he  was  pretty  sure  to  be  received 
with  welcome.  He  went  to  the  office  of  The  Open  Gate,  a 
paper  which  prided  itself  on  its  strong  modern  tone,  and 
walked  into  the  editor's  comfortable  room. 

"I  want  a  job,  Alfred,"  he  said,  in  his  tired,  unenthusi- 
astic  way,  "I've  begun  to  take  an  interest  in  lunatic  asylums. , 
It  seems  to  me  that  so  many  people  I  know  should  be  inside, 
that  I  have  become  curious  to  find  out  what  these  places 
are  really  like." 

Alfred  Reves  laughed.  He  was  a  lean  man,  and  he  sat 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  for  the  day  was  oppressively  hot. 

"I'll  take  two  thousand  words  from  you,  Bob,"  he  said, 
blinking  his  tired  eyes ;  "Hanwell,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Hanwell  be  damned.  I  want  a  fashionable  resort,  some- 
where where  you  can  meet  dukes  and  duchesses — if  they 

323 


324  CATHY  ROSSITER 

evef  go  mad?  Tell  me  about  Welldon  Grange,  for  in- 
stance— that  is  where  all  the  Park  Lane  lunatics  congregate, 
isn't  it?" 

He  fixed  the  matter  up  quickly,  and  came  out  into  the 
street  again.  The  initial  part  of  the  business  had  been  easy 
enough.  The  next  step  was  to  go  to  the  place  itself,  and 
Amyas  took  the  first  train  to  the  little  country  station.  He 
looked  about  him  with  keen  interest  as  he  walked  along  the 
narrow  footpath  outside  the  high  walls.  Cathy  was  in  there, 
and  within  the  next  few  hours  he  would  have  seen  and 
spoken  to  her.  He  felt  a  fear  grip  him  lest  she  should  be 
dreadfully  changed,  but  he  tried  to  think  of  nothing  except 
that  he  was  to  explain  to  her  that  he  was  there  to  help  her  to 
escape.  If  there  was  no  other  way,  it  must  be  done  by  brib- 
ery, and  if  Cathy  were  once  free,  he  had  planned  a  way  by 
which  he  could  hide  her  from  recapture.  All  he  needed  was 
twelve  hours'  start.  The  plan  was  not  difficult,  once  Cathy 
was  out  of  the  asylum.  Lilian  and  he  would  meet  her,  and 
be  waiting  for  her  in  a  car.  They  would  take  her  across  to 
Ireland  that  night.  By  morning,  Cathy  would  be  out  of 
England,  and  Robert  had  already  put  his  shooting-box,  on 
the  border  of  County  Limerick,  in  order.  It  was  a  tiny 
little  place,  whither  he  very  seldom  went,  standing  in  the 
heart  of  a  huge,  rambling  domain  in  the  foot-hills  of  the 
blue  mountains  of  Slieve  Na  Mon.  For  years  he  had  never 
gone  near  it;  it  was  a  wild  spot  where  no  one  ever  came, 
and  the  one-storied  house,  standing  on  a  plateau  over  a 
rushing,  brown  river,  was  comfortable  and  promised  great 
rest  and  quiet.  Miles  of  rhododendrons  spread  over  the  ra- 
vines, and  there  was  the  eternal  sound  of  flowing  water  in 
the  air.  At  every  season  of  the  year  it  was  beautiful,  but 
its  remoteness  had  formerly  made  no  kind  of  appeal  to 
Robert's  sophistication.  At  last  "Parteen,"  as  the  house 
was  called,  was  to  be  of  definite  use  to  him,  and  when  he 
and  Lilian  had  decided  that  it  was,  above  all  else,  the  place 
for  Cathy,  they  had  immediately  arranged  with  Miss  Batten 
that  she  was  to  go  there  in  advance.  Beyond  a  wire  herald- 
ing their  coming,  they  could  give  her  no  word  of  how  things 
went  with  them,  but  she  was  to  have  everything  prepared, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  325 

and  was  to  take  care  of  Cathy  when  Lilian  had  to  return  to 
London.  So  far,  they  had  not  told  Lady  Carstairs  anything. 
They  both  felt  that  it  was  best  for  her  to  be  spared  the 
knowledge  until  she  could  also  be  told  that  Cathy  was  free. 

All  this  was  planned,  and  Amyas  felt  that,  as  there  was 
money  enough  for  a  sufficiently  large  bribe,  he  could  count 
upon  one  of  the  attendants  to  take  it,  but  until  he  saw  Cathy 
he  could  not  tell  how  far  her  dreadful  confinement  had  made 
her  helpless,  even  when  help  was  near.  If  Lorrimer  was 
prepared  to  fight  to  get  her  sent  back,  he  would  have  to 
reckon  with  a  publicity  which  might  not  be  altogether  to  his 
taste.  Amyas  thought  of  him  with  a  rage  of  scorn.  The 
man  was  a  hopeless  coward,  and  he  was  now  well  in  the 
lime-light.  Probably  he  would  never  raise  the  question, 
but  he  and  Doctor  Henstock  would  at  least  have  to  face  a 
certain  amount  of  plain  speech. 

As  he  considered  the  subject,  he  came  to  the  entrance 
gates  and  went  in.  He  had  not  advised  Doctor  Chapman  of 
his  coming,  but  a  short  distance  within  the  grounds  he  met 
a  square-built  man  with  a  panama  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
who  hailed  him  and  asked  what  his  business  was. 

Robert  lifted  his  hat  and  explained  himself. 

"The  Open  Gate,  oh  yes,  a  very  admirable  paper.  I  hope 
you  are  going  to  give  us  a  good  show,"  Doctor  Bracy  said, 
introducing  himself.  "I  am  the  house  doctor.  You  will 
see  how  well  the  patients  are  cared  for." 

Amyas  was  struck  at  once  by  the  grounds,  they  were  so 
righteously  and  rigidly  well  kept,  and  afar  he  saw  groups 
of  people  sitting  in  chairs  along  the  sunny  lawn.  It  was 
his  business  to  be  polite,  and  he  remarked  upon  the  flower- 
ing shrubs,  and  the  spic  and  span  effect  of  the  place. 

"Quite  a  little  Utopia  for  the  insane,"  he  said,  searching 
with  scrutinising  eyes  the  paths  which  converged  from  the 
main  avenue. 

He  was  brought  into  the  Grange  and  conducted  through 
the  central  part  of  the  house,  where  he  saw  many  of  the 
patients,  and  at  once  two  or  three  of  them  ran  to  him  and 
wished  to  make  him  listen  to  their  story.  There  was  doom 


326  CATHY  ROSSITER 

in  the  air,  and  he  listened',  making  notes,  to  Doctor  Bracy's 
sing-song  tones. 

"I  will  not  bring  you  to  the  infirmary  or  the  'Incorrigibles' 
ward.  You  must  be  acclimatised  to  stand  that  experience," 
he  said,  when  Robert  had  seen  the  billiard-room  and  the 
recreation-room.  "We  are  having  a  band  this  afternoon  to 
amuse  the  patients,  and,  perhaps,  if  you  will  lunch  with  me, 
you  might  like  to  sit  and  listen,  and  see  us  all,  at  home,  as 
it  were." 

"But  this  is  not  my  idea  of  an  asylum,"  Robert  said,  smil- 
ing and  looking  at  Doctor  Bracy,  who  was  inwardly  thinking 
that  he  looked  over-worked  and  by  no  means  strong.  The 
type  of  man  who,  sooner  or  later,  gets  a  nervous  breakdown 
and  not  infrequently  becomes  a  temporary  inmate  of  such 
places  as  Welldon  Grange.  "Where  are  the  chains  arid 
manacles,  and  where  is  a  padded  cell  ?  I  don't  feel  that  I  am 
living  up  to  my  professional  high-water  mark  unless  I  can 
see  something  of  the  kind." 

"The  padded  cell  is  only  used  when  patients  become  en- 
tirely unmanageable,"  Doctor  Bracy  explained.  "It  is  the 
last  resort.  The  lot  of  a  house  doctor  is  by  no  means  easy," 
he  went  on,  as  he  led  Robert  by  an  outside  passage,  avoid- 
ing Wards  II  and  III,  to  the  courtyard  at  the  back.  "One 
is  permitted  no  likes  or  dislikes,  and  at  times  it  is  very 
trying  to  have  to  appear  harsh — but  there  it  is !  I  get  abused 
morning,  noon  and  night,  and  I  have  been  attacked  with 
violence  more  than  once.  We  had  a  very  sad  case  only 
yesterday.  A  man  of  really  brilliant  capacity,  who  was, 
unfortunately,  a  dipsomaniac,  had  so  far  recovered  that  he 
had  been  a  week  on  'parole.'  He  was  allowed  to  go  to  the 
village,  and  his  discharge  was  ready.  Just  to  give  you  an 
idea  of  how  little  any  lunatic  may  be  trusted,  he  went  off 
as  usual,  and  did  not  return.  When  the  warders  found  him, 
he  was  mad  drunk  and  had  stripped  himself  of  his  clothes. 
He  was  shouting  and  singing,  and  they  were  forced  to  over- 
power him  in  the  end.  To-day,  he  is  lying  in  the  hospital 
with  a  fractured  jaw,  and  one  of  the  warders  has  a  broken 
leg."  Doctor  Bracy  mopped  his  face  with  a  red  silk  hand- 
kerchief, and  Amyas  said  nothing.  The  man  had  been 


CATHY  ROSSITER  327 

regarded  as  cured,  and  he  might  have  sat  next  to  Cathy  at 
meals.  The  idea  was  sickening  and  he  drew  a  quick  breath 
of  horror ;  but  he  only  made  a  note  in  his  reporter's  book  and 
said  nothing. 

"There  is  a  padded  cell,"  Doctor  Bracy  said,  with  the  air 
of  a  showman,  and  a  group  of  wardresses  scuttled  away  as 
he  glanced  at  them.  Someone  quite  near  was  moaning 
persistently,  and  Amyas  went  into  the  gloom  behind  the 
door  and  stood  there,  while  Doctor  Bracy  closed  it. 

Surely  they  had  never  put  Cathy  in  such  a  place  ?  Amyas, 
who  never  prayed,  said  something  like  a  prayer  at  that 
moment,  and  then  Doctor  Bracy  threw  the  door  open 
again. 

"The  walls,  as  you  see,  are  so  constructed  that  no  pa- 
tient can  dash  out  his  brains  in  an  access  of  frenzy,"  he  said, 
in  the  same  cheerful  voice.  "It  is  necessary  detention,  but 
there  is  no  real  hardship  attached,  unless  in  the  strait- jacket 
cases,  and  they  must  be  protected  against  themselves.  For 
instance,  a  woman  in  a  frenzy  will  tear  her  arms  raw  or 
pull  out  her  hair  to  make  a  case  against  a  wardress.  It 
sounds  harsh,  I  know,  but  a  short-sighted  lunatic,  for  ex- 
ample, cannot  be  permitted  her  glasses,  as  she  may  try  to 
swallow  them — or  clothing  fine  enough  to  tear.  We  have 
to  be  watchful  as  to  those  details,  and  there  is  a  reason  for 
everything." 

"If  I  were  to  be  shut  up  in  that  hole  for  a  day,  I  should 
have  a  reckoning  with  some  one,"  Amyas  said  grimly. 

"Ah,  but  then  you  are  compos  mentis,  and  it  is  quite 
different,"  Doctor  Bracy  replied  airily. 

As  Doctor  Chapman  was  away  for  the  day,  Doctor  Bracy 
entertained  Robert  in  his  own  rooms.  He  was  quite  ready 
to  talk  openly,  and  he  told  Robert  story  after  story  of 
cases  which  had  come  under  his  care. 

"The  old  complaint  that  there  is  no  treatment  is  quite 
unfounded,"  he  said.  "It  is  literally  impossible  to  do  more 
than  we  do  here." 

"And  do  you  ever,  by  chance,  get  a  really  sane  person 
shut  up  here  ?"  Amyas  asked ;  he  had  been  very  silent  most 
of  the  time. 


328  CATHY  ROSSITER 

/ 

"We  have  almost  always  the  certification  of  two  doctors, 
but  if  the  case  is  uncertified  and  becomes  what  we  call  an 
'urgent/  we  can  ourselves  certify  at  once.  You  can't  ne- 
glect a  lunatic,  or  allow  him  to  be  at  large." 

"And  are  there  no  mistakes  made  ?  For  instance,  has  no 
one  ever  bribed  two  doctors  to  certify?  It  seems  rather 
easy,  looked  at  from  the  outside." 

"No  fear!  Too  risky."  Doctor  Bracy  sucked  his  tooth- 
pick. "Insanity  is  the  slyest  thing  in  the  world,  and  I  am 
thinking  now  of  one  special  case ;  the  case  of  a  really  charm- 
ing lady." 

Amyas  moved  a  little  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"She  had  tried  to  take  her  life;  sufficient  evidence  to 
show  that  there  was  something  very  wrong." 

"Isn't  it  rather  a  matter  of  opinion?"  Amyas  said  idly. 

"There  are  no  two  opinions  on  the  subject.  She  had 
certainly  attempted  suicide. 

"I  noticed  a  few  symptoms  when  I  visited  her  the  eve- 
ning of  her  arrival;  one  of  the  doctors  who  had  certified 
her  insane  brought  her  here,  and  had  deemed  it  best  to  tell 
her  nothing.  Now,  I  am  all  for  honesty,  Mr.  Amyas,  and  I 
don't  like  deceit.  At  the  time  I  felt  that  the  poor  lady 
was  ill-used;  and  the  shock  of  realisation  was  necessarily 
acute.  She  was  cared  for  in  the  infirmary,  as  she  had  not 
entirely  recovered  from  a  long  illness,  and  there  were  times 
when  I  was  nearly — not  quite,  but  very  nearly  convinced 
that  there  had  been  some  mistake  in  her  case." 

"Did  you  let  her  out?"  Amyas  asked  suddenly.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  he  was  hunting  a  cold  line,  and  that  Monica 
had  put  Cathy  into  some  other  hell,  where  there  was  no 
possible  hope  of  escape? 

"Luckily  we  did  not,"  Doctor  Bracy  said.  "Caution  has 
to  be  our  watchword  here.  I  discussed  the  matter  with 
Chapman,  and  we  both  agreed  to  wait.  The  results  proved 
us  to  be  right,  for  within  a  few  months  of  comparative 
liberty,  the  patient  tried  again  to  destroy  herself.  She  stole 
a  pair  of  scissors  from  the  work-basket  of  her  wardress,  and 
managed  to  get  away  into  the  bushes.  When  found,  she 


CATHY  ROSSITER  329 

had  cut  a  strip  of  cambric  from  her  petticoat,  and  was 
evidently  just  about  to  strangle  herself."  His  face  looked 
sad  at  the  recollection. 

"My  God,"  Amyas  said  slowly.  'And  what  did  you  do 
then  ?" 

Doctor  Bracy  fiddled  with  his  glass  and  sighed.  "She 
was  under  the  discipline  of  the  Incorrigible  ward  for  three 
weeks,  and,  while  there,  the  reports  all  showed  that  her 
sanity  had  given  way  hopelessly.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
she  became  quiet,  and  now  she  is  one  of  our  best  patients. 
If  you  like,  I  will  introduce  you  to  her  this  afternoon.  She 
seems  oddly  cut  off.  Of  course,  I  cannot  tell  you  her  name, 
as  everything  here  is  very  confidential,  but  she  may  do  so 
herself.  Yes,"  he  spoke  reflectively,  "Chapman  remarked 
to  me  only  yesterday  that  she  was  isolated,  and  he  felt  quite 
strongly  about  it.  She  must  have  had  many  friends,  and 
there  is  her  husband,  who  has  not  even  troubled  to  fulfil  the 
undertaking  that  he  will  see  her — did  I  say  she  was  mar- 
ried? No?  It  is  this  rooted  convention,  which  makes  the 
sane  shrink  away  from  their  unhappy  relatives,  until,  as  in 
her  case,  they  add  desolation  to  the  difficulties  with  which  we 
have  to  contend.  I  believe  that  she  might  be  almost  re- 
garded as  cured,  only  that  there  is  marked  hesitation  on 
the  part  of  the  petitioner  to  take  any  action.  It  is  all  very 
sad,  very  sad." 

"Perhaps  I  might  cheer  her  up/'  Amyas  said,  not  raising 
his  eyes.  "But  the  padded  room.  It's  pretty  ghastly." 

"Believe  me,  it  was  necessary,"  Doctor  Bracy  said  firmly ; 
"and,  at  the  end  of  the  time,  she  was  perfectly  docile,  she 
even  admits  now  that  she  knows  her  brain  to  be  affected." 

Amyas  felt  as  though  Doctor  Bracy,  with  his  genial  smile, 
had  suddenly  struck  him  in  the  face,  but  he  struggled  to 
hide  his  feelings.  He  must  show  nothing  outwardly,  and 
his  heart  sank  like  lead.  Tortured,  driven  and  forsaken, 
Cathy  had  bowed  to  the  rod,  and  now  they  had  forced  the 
lie  upon  her  and  made  her  accept  it.  She  herself  admit- 
ted that  she  was  mad,  and,  if  so,  it  looked  indeed  as  though 
he  had  come  there  far  too  late. 


330  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Cathy  was  feeling  more  than  usually  hopeless  and  de- 
pressed that  soft,  August  day.  Old  longings  came  upon 
her,  and  when  she  was  told  that  the  band  of  a  neighbouring 
regiment  was  to  play  in  the  grounds,  she  only  wished  to 
remain  indoors. 

"Don't  ask  me  to  listen  to  music,  Agnes,"  she  said,  "it  is 
too  full  of  memories,  and  I  have  to  hush  them  to  sleep. 
When  they  awake  they  make  me  wretched." 

"Come  out,  it  will  do  you  good,"  Agnes  replied.  "And, 
besides,  I'd  like  to  be  out  myself."  She  knew  by  now 
that  she  could  manage  Cathy  by  personal  appeal.  "Put  on 
a  pretty  hat  and  make  yourself  look  nice.  I  always  say 
that  none  of  the  beauties  in  the  papers  are  half  as  nice  as 
you." 

Cathy  looked  at  her  own  reflection  in  the  mirror  with  an 
unsmiling  regard.  She  was  stamped  with  the  marks  of 
mental  suffering,  and  there  were  heavy  lines  around  her 
eyes.  She  had  no  pride  in  herself.  It  mattered  nothing 
what  she  looked  like,  but  Agnes  was  ridiculously  proud  of 
her,  and,  to  please  the  girl,  Cathy  put  on  a  straw  hat  with 
a  blue  scarf  around  it — it  was  one  she  had  bought  in  the 
days  when  these  things  counted  and  mattered.  Her  dress 
was  tumbled  and  tossed,  and  she  would  not  change  it,  but 
she  put  on  a  string  of  cheap  beads  which  were  a  gift  from 
Agnes  to  herself. 

"Now,  Agnes,  now;  can't  I  do  as  I  am?  If  the  people 
who  come  in  to  hear  the  band  think  I  am  nothing  but  a 
bundle  of  rags,  what  does  it  matter?"  She  laughed.  "That 
is  one  of  the  only  advantages  of  being  mad.  It  explains 
everything." 

"Don't  talk  of  it,"  Agnes  said;  "here  is  your  parasol. 
Now,  if  you  had  a  nice  pair  of  gloves  .  .  ." 

"I'll  do  as  I  am,"  Cathy  said;  "don't  try  me  too  far. 
I  hope  there  won't  be  strangers  about,"  she  drew  close  to 
Agnes;  "I  don't  like  strangers,  Aggy  Baggy,  you  know  I 
don't,  they  stare  and  stare  until  they  are  nothing  but  eyes." 

"They  are  only  admiring  you." 

"Well,  I  wish  they  wouldn't;  I  begin  to  think  that  I  am 
growing  cloth  ears  like  poor  Miss  Lucy  Clarke.  Did  you 


CATHY  ROSSITER  331 

hear  her  at  lunch?  She  asked  that  new  man,  with  a  face 
like  Othello,  to  tell  her  if  her  ears  were  really  made  of 
red  flannel." 

Agnes  opened  the  door  and  Cathy  went  out  and  down 
the  steps.  The  scene  was  gay  enough,  except  for  the  num- 
bers of  warders  and  wardresses,  and  the  queer  faded  look 
of  most  of  the  women's  clothes.  Just  then  everyone  was 
"behaving  nicely,"  but  they  all  knew  that  at  any  moment 
someone  might  burst  into  cries  or  tears,  and  one  elderly 
gentleman  in  a  bath-chair  was  already  wailing  pitifully,  be- 
moaning his  lot  to  the  indifferent  crowd. 

"Let  me  have  a  chair  well  away '  from  the  rest,"  Cathy 
said,  grasping  the  arm  of  Agnes  in  sudden  alarm.  "I  don't 
want  to  see  new  people." 

"Stay  where  you  are  and  I'll  get  you  one,"  Agnes  replied 
and  she  was  carrying  the  chair  across  the  smooth  lawn  when 
Doctor  Bracy  intercepted  her.  He  was  with  a  young-look- 
ing man  who  had  a  note-book  in  his  hand. 

"Ah,  I  see  that  our  friend  has  come  out,"  Doctor  Bracy 
said  pleasantly;  "that's  good,  that's  good.  How  is  she 
to-day,  Agnes?" 

Agnes  replied  that  she  was  very  well,  and  she  noticed  that 
the  young  man  stared  as  though  transfixed  to  where  Cathy 
was  standing,  gazing  at  the  distant  trees.  The  attendant 
felt  pleased.  Her  patient  was  a  genuine  beauty,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  she  looked  worn  and  thin,  and  the  stranger 
was  offering  his  tribute  of  unspoken  praise. 

"We  are  just  going  to  have  a  little  talk,"  Doctor  Bracy 
said,  relieving  Agnes  of  the  chair.  "Mr.  Amyas  is  anxious 
to  meet  some  of  our  patients..  Come  along,"  he  added  to 
Robert,  "or  perhaps  you  will  wait  a  moment  while  I  go 
first." 

Amyas  watched  Doctor  Bracy  go  up  to  Cathy  and  touch 
her  arm.  She  started,  as  though  awakened  from  sleep ;  she 
had  been  listening  to  the  music  with  wrapt  intensity;  and 
after  a  few  minutes'  conversation  Cathy  sat  down,  pulling 
the  chair  round  so  that  her  back  was  to  the  throng. 

"She  says  she  will  speak  to  you,"  Doctor  Bracy  hurried 
back,  and  was  clutched  at  as  he  passed  by  a  man  who  was 


332  CATHY  ROSSITER 

wearing  a  knotted  silk  handkerchief  on  his  head,  instead  of 
a  hat.  "Now,  Mr.  Coppley,  no  trouble,  please."  He  turned 
to  Robert.  "She  wants  to  meet  you  alone.  I  suggested  an 
introduction,  but  she  was  firm,  and  it  seems  quite  right  to 
humour  her.  If  you  will  go  up  to  where  she  is  sitting, 
there  is  a  seat  beside  her  where  you  can  sit  as  long  as  you 
like." 

"Must  the  wardress  be  in  attendance?" 

"Nominally,  but  not  in  fact.  Agnes,  you  will  be  within 
call  in  case  you  are  needed." 

Amyas  walked  across  the  grass.  If  Cathy's  life  in  the 
asylum  was  at  times  as  unreal  as  a  dream  to  her,  Robert  felt 
at  that  moment  that  he,  too,  was  the  victim  of  some  wild 
delusion.  Cathy,  the  real,  living  Cathy,  was  close  to  him, 
sitting  in  a  chair  with  her  parasol  over  her  head.  How 
often  he  had  seen  her  in  just  the  same  graceful  attitude, 
and  now  it  was  as  though  only  he  and  she  were  real  and 
the  crowd  of  mad  men  and  women  were  part  of  some  ridicu- 
lous nightmare.  Could  he  not  go  and  put  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders  and  watch  her  glad  surprise?  Then  the  grey 
wave  of  fact  raced  up  and  wiped  out  the  memories.  Catfiy 
had  suffered  in  the  terrible  living  coffin  of  the  padded  room, 
and,  it  might  be,  that,  when  she  turned  her  head,  there  would 
be  no  recognition  in  her  eyes. 

He  walked  slowly,  and  coming  round  her  chair  he  stood 
before  her.  Doctor  Bracy  and  Agnes  were  both  watching 
him,  and  it  mattered  so  much  what  he  should  do  and  how 
he  did  it.  He  dug  his  stick  into  the  mossy  turf  and  leaned 
down,  for  she  had  not  raised  her  head.  Thank  God,  the 
band  was  playing  a  march,  and  the  noise  of  it  made  it  im- 
possible to  overhear  anything. 

"Cathy,"  he  said,  "Cathy!" 

She  looked  up  at  him,  startled,  shaken,  even  terrified. 

"Be  very  careful,"  he  said,  "don't  let  them  notice  any- 
thing. I  have  come  here  to  help  you  to  get  away." 

Her  eyes  softened  and  changed  and  then  filled  with  tears. 

"But  perhaps  you  don't  understand,  Robert,"  she  said. 
"You  see,  you  dear,  kind  Robert,  I  am  mad." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HE  sat  down  beside  her,  and  signed  to  Doctor  Bracy  that 
they  could  be  left  alone,  and  then  he  leaned  forward  and 
looked  at  her  steadily,  his  own  face  reflecting  the  sorrow  of 
hers. 

"I  dare  not  take  your  hands,"  she  said.  "You  do  not 
know  the  power  of  the  conventions  until  you  come  here.  If 
I  did,  Aggy  would  try  and  sweep  me  off — but  I  am  really 
holding  them,  Robert,  and  I  don't  want  ever  to  let  them  go 
again." 

"Listen,  Cathy,"  he  said,  speaking  very  quietly.  "I  am 
going  to  take  you  away." 

"Take  me  away?"  her  voice  was  full  of  astonishment. 
"But  not  now  that  you  know  what  has  happened?" 

"Nothing  has  happened;  you  are  yourself,  unchanged, 
Cathy,  unchanged." 

She  shook  her  head.  "That  is  not  so,  I  have  seen  too 
much  and  suffered  too  much.  I  know  they  never  meant  to 
be  cruel,  but  they  believed  me  mad.  .  .  ."  She  hesitated 
and  lowered  her  eyes.  "You  see,  Monica  had  .  .  ." 

"I  know  all  about  that,"  Amyas  said  vehemently.  "We 
won't  speak  either  one  or  other  of  two  names." 

She  raised  her  eyes  again  and  a  wistful  smile  touched 
her  mouth. 

"It's  wonderful  to  see  you,  Robert,  and  now  that  you 
have  come  here,  will  you  come  again  often?  It  will  make 
it  even  bearable  to  have  that  to  count  upon." 

Amyas  reflected  for  a  moment.  He  had  intended  to  tell 
her  the  broad  outlines  of  the  plan  of  escape,  but  now  he 
decided  against  this.  Cathy  was  not  equal  to  any  such  tense 
strain  as  it  would  place  upon  her,  and  he  could  perhaps  do 
it  all  himself,  with  the  help  of  Lilian.  He  had  found  Doctor 
Bracy  more  sympathetic  than  he  had  hoped  for,  and  Lilian 
could  probably  manoeuvre  the  situation.  Unless  the  pe- 

333 


334  CATHY  ROSSITER 

titioner  acted,  there  was  very  little  chance  of  the  asylum 
officials  taking  any  steps  to  bring  her  back. 

Amyas  dug  his  stick  into  the  ground  again,  at  the  thought 
of  Lorrimer.  Yes,  it  was  very  much  better  that  Cathy 
should  know  nothing,  and  he  must  talk  to  her  now  and 
reassure  her. 

"How  do  you  think  I  got  here?"  he  asked.  "I  am  sup- 
posed to  be  a  journalist,  Cathy,  one  of  the  damned,  and 
I  was  shown  over  the  Grange  by  Doctor  Bracy.  I  don't 
dislike  the  man,  he  has  good  points." 

Cathy  looked  around  her  and  looked  back  at  Robert. 
"You  know  that  I  came  here  without  any  idea  of  why  I  was 
being  brought,  and  they  keep  on  telling  me  that  I  tried  to 
kill  myself.  Robert,  Robert,  isn't  it  silly?  I,  who  loved 
every  day  of  my  life,  and  I  have  always  been  a  cannibal  in 
that  way.  But  I  suppose  they  are  right  .  .  ."  she  wavered 
again. 

"I  went  to  tea  with  Aunt  Amy  last  week,"  Robert  said ; 
"she  talks  of  nothing  but  you,  and  she  does  not  know  where 
you  are." 

Cathy  frowned  slightly  as  though  perplexed.  "Didn't 
they  give  it  out?  Do  you  mean  that  it  has  all  been  kept  a 
secret  ?" 

"Yes,  until  Miss  Batten  and  I  discovered  the  facts." 

"Batkins,  poor  darling  Batkins.  They  sent  her  away. 
Th*y  wanted  to  get  rid  of  her.  Where  is  she;  can't  she 
come  and  see  me?"  Cathy's  cheeks  took  a  shade  of  their 
old  delicate  pink,  and  she  looked  animated  and  almost  gay. 
"I  shall  have  a  series  of  parties,"  she  said;  "a  funny  place 
to  give  them,  but,  still,  I  shall  give  them.  Lilian  shall  come, 
and  Twyf ord — he  hasn't  forgotten  me  ?"  She  looked  doubt- 
fully at  Amyas.  "Can  you  picture  him  here?  Aunt  Amy 
must  come  to  me  at  once,  for  even  if  I  am  out  of  my  mind 
I  don't  feel  any  different.  How  I  should  love  to  see  Lilian. 
Are  you  and  she  friends  again  ?" 

"Yes,  why  not,  after  all?" 

He  leaned  back  carelessly  and  smoked,  his  eyes  on  the 
bright  glitter  of  the  brass  instruments  of  the  band.  Cathy 


CATHY  ROSSITER  335 

must  be  led  to  talk  of  outside  things,  and  here  was  a  sub- 
ject. 

"It  was  merely  a  case  of  misdirected  energy.  Lilian  and 
I  were  meant  to  be  friends,  and  we  most  unwisely  got 
married.  She  found  out  the  mistake  and  admitted  it, 
whereas  I  was  such  a  conventional  sort  of  cove,  Cathy, 
though  I  prided  myself  upon  my  individuality,  that  I  was  a 
fool  at  that  time.  Once  we  were  both  free  we  got  sane 
again,  and  when  the  peed  cropped  up,  a  propos  of  your  own 
self,  we  found  that  we  had  a  long  standing  friendship  be- 
hind us.  We  are  friends,  the  best  of  friends,  and  it  has 
made  things  square.  Hinton  is  a  good  fellow,  which  is 
more  than  I  ever  was  or  will  be;  and  was  I,  or  she  for 
that  matter,  to  forgo  a  sound,  reliable  slice  of  comfort, 
merely  because  blatant  idiots  raise  their  eyebrows  and  say 
beastly  things?" 

"Oh,  Robert,  I  am  so  glad,"  Cathy  said.  "What  a  won- 
derful day  this  is  for  me.  I  can't  believe  it  yet.  Go  on 
talking ;  just  talk  of  the  things  we  used  to  know  about,  and 
let  us  forget." 

He  talked  on  steadily.  There  was  a  great  deal  to  say,  and 
Amyas  sought  for  any  trifling  subject  which  would  amuse 
her.  To  test  her  a  little,  he  spoke  of  George  Barlow.  "Janey 
Greenaway  is  in  the  lock-up,"  he  said,  "she  called  the  Prime 
Minister  names  outside  the  House,  and  the  police  nabbed 
her.  I  heard  that  Barlow  insisted  on  making  an  extremely 
witty  speech  at  Bow  Street  when  he  went  to  bail  her  out, 
but  the  authorities  won't  let  her  go." 

"Poor  Janey,"  Cathy  moved  her  hands  vaguely.  "I  hate 
to  think  of  her  locked  up,  Robert.  You  know  that  I  ended 
by  realising  that  people  were  unfair  to  Barlow?  He  was 
very  kind  to  me  that  day  when  I  fell  on  the  road,  and  the 
other  time  that  I  saw  him,  he  only  wanted  to  warn  me 
about  Jack." 

"I  know  everything,  Cathy,  there  is  no  need  to  explain," 
Amyas  said  decisively.  "Now  what  other  gossip  have  I? 
The  hat  of  the  moment  is  worn  with  a  chin-strap,  and 
women  go  to  dances  without  any  backs  to  their  evening 
dresses.  Does  that  interest  you?" 


336  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Frightfully,"  Cathy  laughed  back  at  him.  "Bring  me 
one  when  you  come  again,  Robert  dear." 

"Anything  else?"  he  asked.  "What  shall  I  bring  you, 
Cathy?  Flowers,  books  ...  is  there  anything  you  want?" 

"You  bring  me  better  things  than  any  of  those,"  she 
said,  her  eyes  wet,  "you  brought  me  a  bit  of  the  old  days." 
She  pressed  her  hands  over  her  heart.  "I  am.  often  broken 
by  it  all.  For  it  has  been  very  dark  at  times;  even  you 
cannot  know  how  dark." 

"I  can  guess  at  it,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"There  really  is  such  a  thing  as  delirium,"  she  said,  striv- 
ing to  explain;  "the  most  woeful  and  awful  thing.  It 
gathers  against  me  slowly,  and  all  the  things  of  the  spirit 
seem  to  be  tumbled  into  a  black  night." 

The  cadence  of  melancholy  in  her  voice  reached  him  like 
a  whisper,  and  he  longed  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  hold 
her  close  until  she  could  tell  him  that  she  was  rested. 

He  had  loved  Cathy  when  she  was  as  glorious  as  the 
lilies  of  the  field,  but  now  that  she  was  dimmed  of  beauty 
and  broken  in  spirit,  he  loved  her  with  a  love  so  wide  and 
vast  that  it  ached  in  him  because  of  its  very  greatness. 
She  had  changed  considerably,  but  the  alteration  had  not 
really  impaired  her  beauty  in  his  eyes,  she  had  turned  from 
the  sordid  sights  around  her,  and  looked  steadfastly  towards 
another  world.  Alas !  he  thought,  that  she  had  nothing  here 
to  claim  her.  With  a  wonderful  patience  she  had  accepted 
the  heart-breaking  existence,  dead  idleness,  hopeless  dawns 
and  unalleviated  sorrow.  Cathy  had  been  waiting  when  he 
found  her,  and  the  only  thing  she  waited  for  was  death. 

Doctor  Bracy  joined  them  a  few  minutes  later,  and 
Robert  had  warned  Cathy  not  to  admit  that  they  had 
known  one  another  before ;  the  fact  that  they  had  a  mutual 
friend  would  account  for  their  long  talk,  and  he  watched 
her  carefully  to  see  whether  she  was  able  to  keep  up  the 
pretence. 

"Doctor  Bracy,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him,  "I  owe  you  a 
''thank  you'  because  you  have  done  a  good  deed  to-day. 
Mr.  Amyas  and  I  have  a  friend  in  common,  and  he  will  tell 
lier  to  come  and  see  me." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  337 

"That's  right,  that's  right,"  Doctor  Bracy  dragged  up  a 
chair  and  sat  down.  He  was  pleased  to  see  her  looking  so 
well,  and  felt  sure  that  Amyas  had  been  favourably  im- 
pressed. 

"One  forgets,"  Cathy  went  on,  "that  the  world  is  full  of 
accidents,  and  a  nice  accident  is  a  help."  She  looked  wist- 
ful again.  "Only  here,  one  can't  expect  to  hear  voices  call- 
ing one  to  pack  up  and  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Where 
are  the  ends,  Doctor  Bracy,  or  is  this  one  of  them?" 

He  shook  his  head  and  looked  significantly  at  Amyas. 
How  could  he  tell  that  Cathy  had  always  talked  like  that  ? 

"I  am  not  a  geographical  expert,"  he  said,  uneasily; 
"perhaps  you  are  right." 

"And  yet,"  Cathy  looked  towards  Amyas,  "one  never 
really  does  see  the  shadow  of  the. coming  event.  I  did  not 
see  it.  Or  do  you  think  I  did,  when  I  remembered : 

"'John  York,  John  York,  where  have  you  gone,  John  York?'" 
"I  can  complete  the  quotation,"  Amyas  said: 

"  'King  of  my  heart,  King  of  my  heart,  I  am  out  on  the  trail  of  thy 
bugles! 

You  see,  I  also  read  my  Gilbert  Parker." 

Doctor  Bracy  regarded  them  both  with  some  astonish- 
ment, but  they  evidently  understood  one  another  quite  well. 

At  last  Amyas  got  up  and  held  Cathy's  hand  for  a  second. 

"I  will  give  your  message  to  Mrs.  Hinton,"  Le  said.  ^"The 
external  world  does  exist,"  he  smiled,  his  tired  face  lighting 
suddenly.  "There  are  policemen  and  perambulators,  just 
the  same  as  ever,  and  it  goes  on  as  usual.  She  will  be  so 
glad  to  hear  of  you." 

Cathy  grew  suddenly  anxious  and  she  caught  his  hand 
again.  "Let  her  come  soon,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  en- 
treaty in  her  voice.  "I've  been  so  long  shut  away  from 
everybody." 

Doctor  Bracy  accompanied  Amyas  to  the  edge  of  the 
grass  plot.  "I  am  sure  it  did  her  a  great  deal  of  good,"  he 
said,  "and  I  shall  be  glad  for  her  to  see  another  friend.  We 
do  all  we  can,  but  sometimes  outside  people  can  help." 


338  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Mrs.  Hinton  is  sure  to  come  soon,"  Amyas  said.  "She 
is  devoted  to  Miss  Rossiter." 

"Ah,  I  see  you  have  humoured  her  as  to  her  name," 
Doctor  Bracy  smiled.  "It  is  only  a  small  thing,  but  it  sug- 
gests derangement.  Poor  Lady  Lorrimer  .  .  ."  he  stopped 
and  put  a  finger  on  Robert's  sleeve.  "Tell  me,  is  there  any- 
thing wrong  between  her  and  Sir  John?  It  seems  odd  to 
:  us  that  he  should  not  come  here,  though  by  law,  he  should 
]  be  compelled  to  visit  her.  Of  course  I  never  gossip  about 
patients,  but  it  is  odd — very  odd." 

"I  know  nothing  of  Sir  John  Lorrimer,"  Robert  replied, 
"except  that  he  is  the  personification  of  the  bourgeoisie.  A 
bishop  with  the  domestic  views  of  a  Pasha." 

"Oh  dear  me,"  Doctor  Bracy  said  in  tones  of  perplexity, 
"I  fancied  that  he  was  immensely  respected." 

"So  he  is,"  Amyas  said  shortly,  "by  all  the  people  who  do 
not  know  him,  Doctor  Bracy." 

"Well,  he  never  comes  here,"  Doctor  Bracy  replied,  in 
the  same  perplexed  voice;  "though  I  know  Chapman  went 
so  far  as  to  remind  him  of  his  responsibility.  Good-bye, 
Mr.  Amyas,  and  send  me  a  copy  of  the  paper.  I  hope  you 
have  nothing  but  good  to  say  of  us." 

In  Lilian's  boudoir,  Robert  poured  out  his  story.  He 
raged  as  he  paced  the  small  room,  as  she  had  never  believed 
he  could  have  raged,  and  he  gave  her  a  quick  summary  of 
his  experiences  of  the  day. 

"They  have  nearly  driven  her  mad,"  he  said,  standing 
before  her,  "and  it  is  no  thanks  either  to  Lorrimer  or  that 
woman,  that  she  isn't  a  shrieking  lunatic.  The  very  fact 
of  her  being  able  to  stand  it  proves  her  sanity.  But  oh,  my 
God,  Lil,  to  see  her  there " 

"What  can  we  do  now?"  Lilian  asked,  her  eyes  bright 
and  her  chin  set.  "Let  me  do  something,  Robert,  whatever 
it  is." 

"There's  plenty  for  you  to  do,  but  the  original  plan  has 
to  be  altered."  He  sat  down  and  became  quiet  again.  "I 
did  not  dare  to  burden  Cathy  with  the  suspense  of  a  night 
of  strain,  she  can  be  told  nothing  until  we  get  her  out. 


CATHY  ROSSITER  339 

Down  there,  the  doctors  are  beginning  to  suspect  that 
Lorrimer  isn't  keen  on  having  her  out ;  and  I  thought  Bracy 
quite  a  decent  fellow,  so  long  as  he  wasn't  treating  one  as  a 
lunatic.  He  is  naturally  kindly  in  his  way,  and  might  be 
managed.  You  have  to  do  the  managing,  old  girl." 

"To-morrow?" 

"Yes,  with  the  least  delay  possible.  You  must  go  there 
and  ask  to  see  her,  and  get  Bracy  to  let  her  drive  with  you. 
Don't  let  him  have  any  suspicion  at  all." 

Lilian  smiled.  "I  think  I  can  do  that,"  she  said,  nodding 
at  Amyas.  "I  am  to  induce  the  doctor  to  let  her  come  out 
with  me,  and  then  I  just  whisk  her  off,  and  at  night  we  cross 
to  Ireland.  You  will  come  too,  won't  you?" 

"I  shall  wait  for  you  in  the  car,  and  then  we  shall  motor 
to  Chester  and  catch  the  night  mail.  She  will  be  frightfully 
tired,  but  the  main  thing  is  to  get  her  out." 

The  hours  dragged  for  her  and  Amyas  until  they  were 
able  to  start  off  again  to  Welldon  Grange,  and  Lilian,  soberly 
clad,  and  quiet  of  manner,  presented  herself  at  the  gates. 
She  had  left  Robert  at  the  hotel  which  the  village  boasted, 
and  was  to  return  there  to  pick  him  up.  The  large  car, 
Lilian's  dignified  air  of  command  and  her  cold,  strong 
manner,  impressed  Doctor  Chapman  favourably. 

"I  rushed  down  here  at  once,  or  I  should  have  called  and 
brought  Doctor  Henstock  with  me,"  Lilian  said  in  her 
perfect  manner. 

"I  hear  that  she  spent  rather  a  restless  night,"  Doctor 
Chapman  said,  placing  his  finger  tips  one  against  the  other. 
"It  might  have  been  best  had  you  waited  a  week  or  two. 
Yet,  since  you  are  here,  you  must  not  be  disappointed." 

"I  was  going  to  suggest,"  Lilian  said,  and  she  was  glad 
that  Doctor  Chapman  did  not  know  that  her  heart  was  beat- 
ing in  a  furious  scurry  of  excitement,  "that  .a  little  drive 
with  me  might  be  good  for  her.  Lady  Lorrimer  has  lived 
an  open  air  life,  and  if  we  drove  quietly  along  the  roads 
for  an  hour  or  so,  it  would  amuse  her." 

Doctor  Chapman  looked  searchingly  at  Lilian.  Was  it 
just  possible  that  he  doubted  her  good  faith?  He  looked 
at  her  well  gloved  hands,  her  dark  dress,  plain  and  expen- 


340  CATHY  ROSSITER 

sive,  and  the  string  of  pearls  around  her  throat.  Mentally 
he  visualised  the  big  car  and  the  impressively  respectable 
chauffeur.  Mrs.  Hinton  was  not  the  kind  of  woman  who 
expected  refusal,  and  he  looked  at  her  again.  The  string  of 
pearls  decided  him,  though  he  could  not  have  explained  why. 

"Very  likely  it  would  be  a  nice  change,"  he  said  quite 
readily,  once  he  had  made  up  his  mind.  "Then,  if  you  will 
follow  me,  I  will  bring  you  to  the  drawing-room.  I  think 
Lady  Lorrimer  is  probably  there,  if  she  is  not  in  our  little 
chapel." 

Lilian  followed  him  demurely.  She  enjoyed  the  sense  of 
intrigue  to  the  full,  and  she  knew  that  it  was  her  person- 
ality which  had  vanquished  any  doubts  Doctor  Chapman 
might  have  felt,  nor  did  the  knowledge  distress  her  in  the 
least.  She  said  afterwards  that  she  would  have  let  him  kiss 
her,  had  he  been  that  sort  of  man.  The  price  is  nothing 
when  the  result  is  beyond  price. 

Looking  around  her  with  pained  eyes,  she  took  in  the 
surroundings  which  had  been  Cathy's  for  so  long  now,  and 
her  pity  broke  loose  in  her,  but  she  walked  as  though  she 
was  indifferent  to  it  all. 

Cathy  was  sitting  in  the  ornate  drawing-room,  and  a  big, 
blousy-looking  woman  crouched  down  by  the  side  of  her 
chair,  talking  with  wild  incoherence  of  her  own  lot.  She 
was  accusing  a  whole  range  of  people  whom  she  held  re- 
sponsible, and  when  she  saw  Lilian  she  shouted  to  her  to 
go  away. 

"We  don't  want  you,  we  don't  want  you.  Go  away — 
you  are  mad,"  she  cried,  waving  her  hands,  but  as  her  eyes 
met  those  of  Doctor  Chapman  she  faltered,  and  hid  like  a 
child,  behind  Cathy's  chair,  peering  out  from  the  side. 

At  the  sight  of  Lilian,  Cathy  got  up  and  came  to  her  with 
out-held  hands,  and  they  neither  of  them  spoke  as  Lilian 
folded  her  close  to  her  heart.  She  only  made  low  sounds 
of  comfort,  as  she  stroked  the  bowed  head  with  tender 
hands,  and  then  Doctor  Chapman  spoke,  and  at  his  voice 
Cathy  lifted  her  head. 

"Let  me  rest  here,"  she  said.  "Don't  tell  me  that  I  must 
not  excite  myself.  Feel  my  pulse,  Doctor  Chapman,  it  is 


CATHY  ROSSITER  341 

not  beating  fast.    You  see  it  is  so  long  since  I  have  had 
anywhere  to  rest  myself  like  this." 

Lilian  lifted  Cathy's  face,  her  hand  under  her  chin. 

"Robert  brought  me  news  of  you,"  she  said,  smiling  at 
the  heavy  eyes  raised  to  hers,  "and  Doctor  Chapman  says 
you  may  come  out  with  me  for  a  little  in  the  car/ 

Cathy  shook  her  head.  "I  would  rather  see  you  here  in 
some  room  where  we  may  be  alone.  I  should  be  afraid  if 
I  went  out." 

For  a  second  Lilian  nearly  panicked,  but  she  stood  her 
ground  and  spoke  encouragingly. 

"I  am  just  as  fond  of  fresh  air  as  ever,  and  I  am  sure 
it  will  do  you  good,"  she  said,  and  she  turned  towards 
Doctor  Chapman.  "Can't  you  persuade  her?" 

Appealed  to  directly,  Doctor  Chapman  smiled,  and  spoke 
in  his  deep,  suave  tones,  and  Lilian  watched  Cathy,  who 
fixed  her  eyes  on  him  like  a  dutiful  and  frightened  child. 

"If  you  say  that  I  am  to  go  I  will  go,"  she  said,  and  then 
she  turned  eagerly  to  Lilian.  "Once,  I  thought  of  nothing 
but  getting  away  from  here.  That  was  before  I  believed^ 
but  now  that  they  all  say  I  am  mad,  the  idea  of  outside 
places  frightens  me.  Lil,  if  you  had  come  two  months  ago 
I  would  have  begged  you  to  take  me  away  with  you." 

"Be  quite  calm,"  Doctor  Chapman  kept  a  steady  eye  on 
his  patient;  "I  give  Mrs.  Hinton  full  permission  to  take  you 
for  a  drive  outside  the  grounds." 

"Without  anyone  else?    Without  Agnes  even?" 

"Alone  with  your  friend,"  he  replied. 

Cathy  had  shown  so  much  reluctance  that  he  felt  the 
concession  to  be  a  harmless  one,  and  he  accepted  Mrs.  Hin- 
ton's  charming  smile  of  gratitude  with  a  pleasant  sense  of 
satisfaction. 

"Perhaps  you  will  lunch  at  my  house,"  he  said,  as  Cathy 
went  away  to  put  on  her  hat.  "It  would  give  my  wife  great 
pleasure  to  meet  you." 

"May  I  leave  it  open?"  Lilian  said  mendaciously.  "I 
ought  to  get  back  early,  but  so  much  depends  upon  Lady 
Lorrimer." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  Doctor  Chapman  agreed,  and  he 


342  CATHY  ROSSITER 

went  to  the  door  with  them,  folding  a  rug  round  Cathy's 
knees  as  he  had  folded  the  rug  once  before  around  Doctor 
Henstock.  He  watched  them  go,  they  were  driving  very 
slowly,  and  Lilian  appeared  to  be  talking  quietly  to  Cathy. 
Everything  promised  well.  Mrs.  Hinton  would  realise  that 
doctors  of  asylums  were  not  ogres,  and  even  Cathy  herself 
had  proved  this  fact.  Had  she  not  been  entirely  reluctant 
to  leave,  even  for  a  short  drive  ?  True,  a  few  weeks  before, 
she  would  have  considered  such  a  chance  an  opening  for 
escape;  she  had  altered  wonderfully,  and  psychologist 
though  he  professed  to  be,  Doctor  Chapman  regarded  the 
change  as  a  personal  tribute.  He  admired  Mrs.  Hinton  im- 
mensely ;  her  great  sanity  struck  him  at  once,  and  he  went 
to  his  house  and  described  her  to  his  wife,  not  omitting  to 
mention  the  fact  that  she  was  wearing  a  string  of  pearls 
which  must  be  worth  over  a  thousand  pounds. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

SIR  JOHN  LORRIMER  had  affairs  of  State  to  occupy  his  mind. 
He  was  a  member  of  nearly  a  dozen  select  committees,  and 
his  name  was  constantly  before  the  public.  Without  know- 
ing exactly  when  it  occurred,  he  found  that  he  had  virtually 
left  the  Progressive  Party,  who  were  never  at  any  time 
either  specially  progressive  or  independent,  and  was  acting 
in  union  with  the  older  Conservatives.  Any  man  may  alter 
his  mind — it  is  the  privilege  of  the  free,  and  Lorrimer  now 
generally  found  himself  on  the  same  platform  as  Bishops 
and  high  Tories.  The  only  point  which  made  his  new  posi- 
tion a  little  difficult,  was  his  secret  connection  with  Monica 
Henstock.  He  could  not  do  withput  Monica,  and  they  both 
believed  that  their  union  was  as  sacred  as  any  marriage.  All 
this  was  very  well,  and  he  could  have  ignored  the  unlikely 
chance  of  discovery,  except  for  the  fact  that  he  was  now 
committed  to  taking  a  prominent  part  in  a  campaign  to  pre- 
serve the  sanctity  of  the  home.  He  had  a  stock  speech,  in 
which  he  argued  eloquently  that  any  lessening  of  the  strin- 
gency of  the  divorce  laws  would  cause  ninety  per  cent,  of 
the  happily  married  subjects  in  the  British  Isles  to  rush 
violently  into  expensive  legislation,  and  moral  anarchy 
would  supervene.  Homes  hitherto  of  unimpeachable  "sanc- 
tity" would  collapse,  and  divorce  must  eat  like  canker 
through  the  fair  land  of  England.  It  was,  therefore,  agi- 
tating to  realise  now  and  then,  that,  if  a  few  facts  of  his 
private  life  became  known,  his  whole  career  must  go  down 
dishonourably  into  the  mud.  People  had  talked  of  Cathy's 
disappearance,  and  had  wondered  over  it.  Many  stories  had 
been  fabricated  to  account  for  the  fact  that  Lorrimer  was 
wifeless,  and  it  was  generally  assumed  that  Cathy  had  done 
something  disgraceful.  She  had  been  widely  spoken  of  as 
a  beautiful  woman,  and  very  little  else  was  known  of  her. 

343 


344  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Hammersly  was  believed  to  be  in  possession  of  the  real 
facts,  and  he  was  significantly  silent.  He  admitted  once, 
however,  under  a  more  than  usually  persistent  cross-exami- 
nation at  his  club,  that  there  was  something  far  from  credit- 
able to  Lady  Lorrimer  in  the  background. 

Monica  attracted  no  notice  whatever.  She  had  an  air  of 
severity  that  would  have  deceived  the  most  suspicious,  and 
whenever  Lorrimer  was  seen  with  her  in  public,  which  was 
not  often,  she  only  added  to  the  atmosphere  of  quiet  recti- 
tude with  which  he  was  surrounded.  Other  women  he 
avoided,  he  had  grown  to  hate  them,  and  often  he  was  sulky 
and  irritable  to  Monica  herself. 

Deep  down  in  his  heart  he  was  eternally  contrasting  his 
life,  successful  as  it  now  was,  with  the  golden  burst  of 
summer  when  he  and  Cathy  had  been  happy  together.  He 
had  ceased  to  love  her,  he  said  so  frequently  to  himself,  and 
he  had  put  Monica  in  her  place  in  all  except  the  open  avowal 
of  her,  but  he  was  dissatisfied  and  restless.  Cathy  was  hope- 
lessly mad,  and  had  again  attempted  to  take  her  life ;  he  did 
not  wish  to  see  her.  When  he  received  a  letter  from  Doctor 
Chapman  telling  him  that  his  obligation  was  pressing  to 
visit  the  Grange,  he  had  torn  it  to  fragments  and  lost  his 
temper  with  Perrin,  his  valet,  who  had  not  been  guilty  of 
any  offence. 

There  was  an  unspoken  pact  of  silence  between  him  and 
Monica  on  the  subject,  and  he  had  never  asked  her  a  single 
question  about  Cathy,  or  what  had  happened  the  day  she 
brought  her  there. 

Usually  he  went  to  see  Monica  in  the  evenings,  and  they- 
were  arranging  a  prospective  holiday. 

They  managed  their  affairs  very  carefully;  Monica  was 
to  go  to  Swanage  a  week  in  advance  of  Lorrimer  and  take 
a  room  at  the  hotel.  Later  on,  he  was  to  appear,  and  Perrin 
was  an  adept  at  arrangements  of  this  kind,  so  that  outwardly 
there  was  no  cause  for  suspicion.  They  did  not  even  dare 
to  laugh  at  the  fact  that  their  mutual  appearance  of  intense 
respectability  was  an  invaluable  safeguard,  and  though  there 
were  moments  when  they  both  quailed,  and  when  a  knock 
on  the  door  of  Lorrimer's  bedroom  made  them  shake  like 


CATHY  ROSSITER  345 

convicted  criminals,  they  had  never  in  fact  been  even  sus- 
pect. 

Again,  the  heavier  burden  fell  upon  Monica.  She  had 
none  of  Lorrimer's  indifference  to  everything  except  detec- 
tion, and  she  suffered  desperately  while  she  submitted  to  the 
inevitable. 

It  was  a  wild,  blowy  evening,  and  the  hot  spell  had  al- 
tered into  the  cold  of  a  shrewish  summer's  day.  Lorrimer 
was  to  take  Monica  out  to  dinner,  and  then  they  would 
return  to  his  flat.  He  bought  some  flowers  from  a  battered- 
looking  woman  at  a  street  corner,  and  walked  onwards  with 
them  in  his  hand.  After  all,  Monica  was  his  only  real 
friend.  He  was  beginning  to  suspect  Hammersly,  who  had 
shown  a  hardihood  and  even  insolence  of  manner  to  him 
more  than  once,  since  he  had  declined  to  recommend  him 
for  a  job.  In  the  end  he  had  recommended  him  and  Ham- 
mersly was  drawing  a  good  salary  for  a  thoroughly  idle 
berth  to  which  he  had  no  claim,  but  there  had  been  a  humili- 
ating interview  which  stripped  away  any  illusions  Lorrimer 
might  otherwise  have  preserved. 

Once  he  had  been  friendly  towards  the  world,  but  he  was 
so  no  longer.  He  hummed  to  himself  as  he  went  along,  a 
bad  sign  with  him;  he  had  a  resounding  voice  when  he 
spoke,  but,  if  he  raised  it  into  song,  it  became  thin  and  flat. 
He  thought  on  with  steadily  growing  irritation.  He  had 
seen  Amyas  once,  who  cut  him  dead,  and  Twyford  had 
done  the  same  quite  publicly.  Before  he  left  the  flat  he  had 
received  a  very  curious  note  from  Lady  Carstairs,  address- 
ing him  no  longer  as  "Jack,"  and  informing  him  stiffly  that 
she  wished  him  to  understand  from  her  that  their  acquaint- 
ance was  at  an  end.  They  were  out  after  him  like  a  pack 
of  hounds,  and  he  hated  them.  What  fault  of  his  was  it 
that  his  wife  was  a  lunatic?  He  had  every  right  to  round 
on  old  Lady  Carstairs  and  accuse  her  of  having  known  that 
there  was  lunacy  in  the  family.  That  point  had  never  been 
cleared  up,  and  he  frequently  dwelt  upon  it.  His  laurels  did 
not  please  him,  for  he  was  worried  and  slandered.  Ham- 
mersly had  been  damned  impertinent  and  had  almost  threat- 


346  CATHY  ROSSITER 

ened  him;  had  been  on  the  point  of  dragging  Monica  into 
the  controversy.  The  man  was  a  cad,  Lorrimer  reflected; 
Cathy  was  right  when  she  declined  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  him.  Anyhow,  his  dirty  mouth  was  stopped  now,  and 
he  had  got  his  blackmail,  but  where  in  such  a  world  did 
one  find  a  reliable  friend?  The  men  he  worked  with  and 
for  showed  no  real  interest  in  him,  and  he  had  outgrown 
his  early  pleasure  in  being  on  speaking  terms  with  the 
Great.  He  wanted  to  marry  Monica,  and  yet  to  make 
lunacy  a  cause  for  divorce  was  one  of  the  proposals  which 
he  was  pledged  to  fight.  It  was  nearly  funny,  if  one  con- 
sidered it.  A  revised  divorce  law  might  possibly  free  him 
from  a  mad  wife,  but  on  principle  he  must  forgo  that  chance 
of  liberty.  It  was  just  like  everything  else,  he  thought,  all 
was  dust  and  ashes. 

He  was  not  exactly  in  a  lover's  mood  as  he  kissed  Monica 
and  sat  down,  placing  the  flowers  on  a  table,  but  when  he 
looked  at  her  he  thought  she  appeared  worried  and  pale. 

"I've  had  my  conge  from  Lady  Carstairs,"  he  said,  with 
a  flat  laugh.  "Wretched  old  fool,  I  suppose  she  thinks  I 
shall  make  a  fuss." 

Monica  sat  down  and  shaded  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"Jack,  I  have  had  two  letters  from  Doctor  Chapman.  He 
feels,  I  am  sure,  that  we  are  neglecting  Cathy.  I  believe  it 
will  be  necessary  to  go  there." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  creates  a  feeling  of  suspicion.  I  hate  to  talk 
of  it  at  all,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  something  must  be  done. 
In  any  case,"  she  looked  up  at  him,  "the  others  are  sure 
to  go  there  now,  and  how  shall  we  look?" 

Lorrimer  bit  the  side  of  his  finger  and  thought  it  over. 

"Then  perhaps  you  had  better  go,"  he  said  slowly. 

"I  ?"  Monica  stared  at  him  blankly.  "I  go  there  ?  Don't 
you  see  that  it  is  impossible  ?  I  have  borne  a  great  deal  for 
you,  Jack,  but  I  can't  be  expected  to  stand  everything." 

"Why  shouldn't  you  go?"  he  said.  "You  took  her  there 
and  you  are  a  doctor.  Besides,  you  told  me  that  it  was 
perfectly  all  right,  and  that  she  would  settle  down  quite 
soon.  She  might  be  glad  to  see  you." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  347 

Monica  continued  her  fixed  stare.  In  a  way,  she  herself 
was  responsible  for  his  stupidity.  In  her  effort  to  do  noth- 
ing which  would  make  him  shrink  from  her  in  those  early 
days,  she  had  lied  freely  enough,  so  he  was  not  to  blame,  but 
the  time  was  over  between  them  when  there  was  further 
need  for  lies. 

"I  did  not  see  her,"  she  explained,  speaking  rapidly,  "but 
I  heard  her.  She  was  beating  on  a  locked  door  and  calling 
to  me.  Whatever  happened  later — well,  you  must  realise 
that  she  still  holds  me  responsible  for  having  her  locked  up, 
and  it  is  even  possible  that  she  thinks  you  do  not  know." 

"Heard  her  beating  on  a  locked  door,"  he  said  vaguely. 
""You  did  not  tell  me  that.  My  God!  Yet.  I  suppose  she 
Jias  shaken  down  all  right?" 

"Doctor  Chapman  thinks  that  she  is  very  much  better, 
so  much  better,  in  fact,  that  she  may  be  discharged  quite 
soon." 

They  looked  away  from  each  other,  and  both  of  them 
were  silent.  They  had  succeeded  in  forgetting  about  Cathy, 
and  now  what  were  they  going  to  do? 

Lorrimer  got  up  and  stood  on  the  hearthrug,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  staring  at  the  ground. 

"If  she  is  released  she  will  go  to  her  aunt,  but  it  would 
be  stupid  to  take  risks.  Can't  you  write  to  this  fellow,  Chap- 
man, and  say  that  he  must  be  absolutely  sure  that  she  is 
cured?  It  hardly  matters  to  me,  as  she  won't  be  coming 
back  to  Kingslade  in  a  hurry,  but  for  her  own  sake  one 
,  must  be  sure." 

"Will  you  go  down  and  see  her?  There  is  the  legal  obli- 
gation, in  any  case,"  Monica  asked,  and  her  voice  faltered 
slightly.  She  was  still  afraid  of  Cathy — even  a  marred  and 
broken  Cathy  who  might  pluck  Lorrimer  from  her  at  the 
eleventh  hour.  He  would  feel  regret  and  distress,  and  she 
had  defended  him  from  both ;  but  even  this  must  be  risked. 

"Damn  the  legal  obligation.  If  I  go,  it  may  only  make 
her  worse,"  he  said  cautiously.  "How  would  it  be  if  I  were 
to  write  a  private  letter  to  the  asylum  doctor  to  tell  him 
that  there  was  trouble  between  us  before  she  went  mad? 
If  he  understands  this  he  won't  be  likely  to  want  me  there — 


348  CATHY  ROSSITER 

only  it  doesn't  get  rid  of  the  difficulty  where  you  are  con- 
cerned." 

Monica's  mouth  tightened;  she  was  bitterly  angry  with 
him. 

"You  are  hopelessly  selfish,"  she  said  in  a  low,  hurt  voice ; 
"and  I  have  borne  everything  for  you." 

"You  have  said  that  twice,"  he  replied;  he  felt  in  the 
mood  to  quarrel  with  her.  He  wanted  to  assert  himself 
over  someone — anyone ;  Monica  was  his  slave,  and  so  far 
he  had  never  lashed  her.  "What  is  there  which  you  have 
done  that  you  want  to  remind  me  of?" 

"Cathy  was  my  friend  and  I  loved  her,"  Monica  said  in  a 
stifled  voice.  "Have  you  forgotten  that?" 

"She  was  also  my  wife,  and  I  did  not  marry  her  without 
having  loved  her  deeply,"  Lorrimer's  voice  was  grave  and 
pompous.  "It  did  not  alter  the  fact  that  she  was  a  lunatic 
and  had  to  be  put  away." 

Monica  got  to  her  feet  and  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"I  certified  her  because  you  said  you  wanted  an  end  to 
the  strain.  Cathy  may  have  been  unbalanced  at  the  time, 
and  she  was  certainly  very  ill,  but  I  never  believed  her  to 
be  mad."  The  truth  was  out  now,  and  Lorrimer  looked  at 
her,  his  face  a  ghastly  white. 

"Then  you  made  me  party  to  a  fraud?  You  tell  me  now, 
that  you  did  not  believe  her  mad,"  he  put  her  grasping  hands 
from  him.  "Why  have  you  told  me?  If  you  kept  silence 
then,  in  common  decency  you  might  have  continued  to  do 
so." 

"I  loved  you,  Jack,  I  loved  you,"  Monica  said  hopelessly. 
"Can't  you  understand  ?" 

He  sat  down  again,  like  an  angry  god,  who  has  been  given 
an  undesired  offering.  "I  must  admit  that  your  method  of 
showing  it  strikes  me  as  strange.  You  told  me  that  Cathy 
was  mad,  and  what  about  Luke?  He  seemed  to  have  no 
doubts." 

Monica  averted  her  face.  "He  was  prepared.  It's  no 
use  saying  that  you  did  not  guess  that  from  the  first.  Ham- 
mersly  had  a  hold  on  him,  and  he  was  ready  to  agree." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  349 

The  affronted  virtue  in  Lorrimer's  face  was  tremendous 
at  that  moment,  but  he  kept  silence  for  a  time. 

"The  asylum  doctors  decided  that  she  was  mad."  There 
was  consolation  in  that  thought,  and  Monica  should  have 
left  it  to  him,  but  in  the  storm  of  her  own  hurt  feelings 
she  faced  him  again. 

"Let  us  be  done  with  pretence,"  she  said,  with  a  sweeping 
gesture  of  her  arm.  "They  had  only  the  facts  to  go  upon 
which  were  given  them  by  us." 

"By  you  and  Luke,  surely.     I  had  nothing  to  say  to  it." 

"As  you  will.  Anyhow,  they  had  it  to  go  upon  that  Cathy 
had  dangerous  suicidal  tendencies.  Whether  her  second 
attempt  was  a  real  one  we  shall  never  know.  She  may  have 
been  driven  to  it  by  the  circumstances  in  which  she  found 
herself." 

"My  God,"  Lorrimer  said,  and  his  voice  was  rough  and 
strained.  "If  all  this  ever  comes  out,  it  will  be  nearly  hope- 
less for  me  to  stand  clear.  Monica,  you  are  raving.  Come 
to  your  senses  and  speak  like  a  reasonable  being.  We  have 
the  testimony  of  the  doctors  to  protect  us.  There  is  no 
getting  behind  that." 

"The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  keep  Cathy  there,"  she  said, 
returning  quietly  to  her  old  place  and  taking  up  her  knitting 
with  hands  which  shook  slightly.  "I  believe  they  must 
do  so  unless  the  petitioner  acts,  and  they  make  a  good  thing 
out  of  it,  but  I  want  you  to  know,  Jack,  what  it  has  all  cost 
me.  There  are  times  when  I  would  give  everything  to  have 
Cathy  out  again.  I  dream  of  her,  and  I  keep  on  thinking  of 
her.  It  spoils  all  my  happiness." 

"And  so  you  decided  that  it  should  also  spoil  mine,"  "he 
said,  looking  revengefully  at  the  bunch  of  flowers.  "You 
have  made  me  feel  like  a  criminal.  I  came  here  to  discuss 
plans  for  the  fortnight  at  Swanage,  and  what  sort  of  heart 
can  I  have  for  it  now  ?  I  think  you  might  have  considered 
me  before  you  chose  to  speak." 

"If  I  cannot  speak  as  I  feel  to  you,  now,  what  use  is  any- 
thing?" Monica  said  wearily.  "I  can  get  away  on  Saturday, 
and  when  do  you  come?" 

"About  the  middle  of  next  week,"  he  said,  but  he  had  no 


350  CATHY  ROSSITER 

thoughts  for  any  plans.  "What  do  you  think  the  Carstairs' 
gang  will  find  out,  if  they  do  go  to  the  Grange?" 

"Cathy  is  sure  to  tell  them  everything  she  knows — why 
should  she  not?  Doctor  Chapman  is  extremely  tactful,  but 
he  may  say  that  he  expected  you  to  go  there,  and  that  you 
did  not  go." 

Lorrimer  was  obviously  agitated  and  he  moved  restlessly 
in  his  chair. 

"He  has  committed  himself  to  the  fact  of  her  insanity," 
he  remarked,  "so  that  there  is  no  chance  of  his  saying  that 
there  was  a  mistake — what?" 

"None,"  Monica  said,  listlessly. 

She  was  wondering  why  it  was  that  she  loved  Jack  Lorri- 
mer so  faithfully.  He  had  married  Cathy,  and  it  presup- 
posed that  he  had  once  loved  her.  Yet  now,  when  he  knew 
everything  that  Monica  could  tell  him,  he  only  thought  of 
how  it  would  all  affect  him,  and  had  hardly  given  Cathy  a 
thought.  Day  by  day,  Monica  had  spent  hours  of  misery 
when  the  memories  of  Cathy  haunted  her,  and  she  had  suf- 
fered acutely. 

She  could  not  honestly  wish  Cathy  to  be  released,  because 
the  other  bond  was  fixed  and  firm,  but  she  was  spared  noth- 
ing of  the  mental  torture  which  her  own  treachery  had 
brought  upon  her. 

"You  should  have  been  honest  with  me,"  Lorrimer  said, 
waking  from  his  troubled  thoughts.  "That  was  where  you 
made  a  bad  mistake.  You  let  me  down." 

Honest  with  him!  Monica  very  nearly  laughed.  She 
recalled  how  Lorrimer  had  hedged  and  baulked  and  shown 
a  keen  dislike  for  the  very  mention  of  the  word  "asylum." 
In  all  real  fact,  he  had  made  it  plain  to  her  that  he  wished 
to  know  nothing.  He  must  be  innocent ;  he  had  to  be  pre- 
served blameless  in  his  own  eyes.  Now  he  was  again  pre- 
pared to  claim  that  he  was  a  dupe,  and  again  he  must  be 
wrapped  about  in  some  comforting  fiction.  She  wondered 
vaguely  whether,  if  their  own  relations  ever  became  public, 
he  would  rage  and  storm,  and  repeat  the  old  accusation, 
"The  woman  beguiled  me."  And  yet  he  looked  secure  and 
strong,  and  people  trusted  him.  She  loved  him  still,  and 


CATHY  ROSSITER  351 

would  continue  to  love  him,  because  she  was  fundamentally 
faithful,  but  she  was  bereft  of  her  last  illusion. 

At  the  end  of  the  interview  they  parted  coldly,  and  Lorri- 
mer  dwelt  heavily  upon  the  necessity  of  caution. 

"For  God's  sake  let  us  be  careful,"  he  said  broodingly. 
"I  can't  have  talk,  it's  a  bit  too  risky  with  all  this  in  the 
background." 

"I  will  be  careful,"  Monica  said  humbly.  She  had  no 
fight  in  her,  and  his  decrees  were  her  law. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

LORRIMER  decided  to  walk  home  to  his  flat.  He  wanted 
physical  exercise,  and  his  mind  was  full  of  thorns.  He 
regarded  himself  as  outraged  by  the  very  woman  whom  he 
trusted,  and  he  began  to  wonder  if  it  would  be  possible  to 
continue  this  now  agitating  liaison.  It  was  hardly  worth 
the  strain  it  imposed,  and  he  was  angry  with  Monica.  But 
the  main  question  of  importance  was  his  own  case.  He 
assured  himself  that  he  had  not  the  smallest  suspicion  that 
Monica  had  acted  except  upon  principle,  and  that  he  would 
have  stoutly  refused  to  permit  such  a  course  of  conduct 
had  he  guessed  it.  Somehow  or  other  he  bolstered  up  his 
sagging  self-respect,  and  began  to  think  more  comfortably 
of  the  whole  affair.  Separated  from  Monica,  he  stood  very 
well  indeed.  No  husband  can  go  dead  against  the  fiat  of 
two  doctors,  and  he  remembered  how  he  had  refused  to 
believe  that  Cathy  had  so  much  as  an  attack  of  nerves. 
At  the  time,  he  attributed  the  fiction  to  Monica's  feminine 
desire  to  account  for  Cathy's  straying  fancies.  So  far  so 
good.  His  conscience  was  perfectly  clear.  If  he  had  really 
said  that  he  "wished  the  strain  ended,"  it  was  a  perfectly 
reasonable  wish  and  one  which  anyone  might  have  uttered 
in  good  faith.  Monica  had  misunderstood  him  com- 
pletely. 

Hammersly  had  turned  against  him,  and,  so  long  as  he 
continued  his  relations  with  Monica,  would  most  certainly 
continue  to  use  his  power  of  blackmail.  Hammersly  was  not 
fastidious,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  Between  them  both  the 
position  was  difficult.  He  became  suddenly  anxious  about 
the  proposed  trip  with  Monica.  He  might  be  playing  into 
Hammersly's  hands.  How  did  he  know  that  he  was  not 
being  watched?  Perrin,  his  valet,  might  be  a  spy.  His 
nerves  jumped  at  the  thought,  and  he  strode  on  frowning 

352 


CATHY  ROSSITER  353 

and  agitated.  It  would  be  better,  possibly,  to  cut  out  the 
plan  and  have  done  with  it.  In  any  case,  a  week  alone  with 
Monica  would  only  mean  constant  recriminations.  He 
thought  of  former  weeks  with  her,  and  cursed  himself 
savagely.  At  one  time  they  had  been  reckless,  and  sailed 
perilously  close  to  the  wind.  There  was  an  entry  in  a  book 
at  a  little  out-of-the-way  hotel  at  Shanklin  which  would 
damn  him  completely.  He  had  not  been  so  well  known  then, 
and  his  leap  into  publicity  had  come  rather  suddenly  to  him. 
Now  people  recognised  him,  because  his  photograph  was 
known  through  the  breadth  and  length  of  England.  There 
were  piles  of  a  brochure,  of  which  he  was  the  supposed 
author,  and  which  had  his  portrait  on  the  cover,  on  railway 
bookstalls,  with  an  inviting  legend — "Please  take  one" — in- 
scribed above  them.  People  always  took  what  they  could 
get  for  nothing,  and  he  stared  righteously  at  thousands  of 
idle  readers  from  the  shining  front  page.  Caution  attacked 
him  like  winter  frost,  and,  before  he  got  in,  he  decided  to 
write  to  Monica  and  tell  her  that,  for  a  time,  they  must 
not  meet.  As  for  the  trip  to  Swanage,  it  was  out  of  the 
question. 

All  this  had  nothing  to  say  directly  to  what  Monica  had 
told  him,  but  the  reaction  was  clear  in  its  source,  and  he 
began  to  think  of  Cathy  and  Doctor  Chapman.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  it  would  be  better  to  go  to  Welldon  Grange  and 
see  her.  He  could  tell  her  that  he  had  always  known  that 
there  was  nothing  wrong,  but  that  he  had  been  helpless.  He 
was  wondering  now  whether  it  might  not  be  better  to  change 
his  whole  attitude,  go  down  to  the  asylum,  and  prevail  upon 
Cathy  to  forgive  him,  the  innocent  party  to  the  fact,  and 
bring  her  back  to  Kingslade.  That  would  be  a  facer  for  the 
Carstairs'  clique,  and  it  would  be  a  thoroughly  good  score. 
Monica  had  "let  him  down,"  out  of  her  own  mouth  she  had 
condemned  herself,  and  she  had  never  before  told  him  or  as 
much  as  hinted  at  the  ugly  story  of  Cathy  beating  upon  the 
locked  door.  God !  what  a  world  it  was. 

He  turned  into  St.  James's  Court  and  went  up  to  his  flat, 
where  Perrin  was  still  up  and  waiting  for  him.  There  was 
a  telegram  on  the  table,  and  his  valet  informed  him  that  he 


had  been  rung  up  by  a  gentleman  who  would  not  leave  any 
message,  and  shortly  afterwards  the  telegram  had  come. 

He  took  the  yellow  envelope  between  his  fingers.  It  was 
bulky,  and  the  message  it  contained  must  be  a  long  one.  As 
he  did  so  he  looked  at  the  flap,  and  then  at  Perrin's  narrow, 
sharp-featured  face.  Lorrimer  paused  for  a  second.  The 
flap  had  been  tampered  with,  and  he  was  suddenly  angry 
with  a  burst  of  passionate  resentment. 

"You  have  opened  this,"  he  said,  as  the  envelope  yawned 
unresisting  in  his  hands.  "Don't  deny  it." 

Perrin  did  deny  it.  He  was  outraged  by  the  suggestion, 
for  he  had  his  own  personal  pride,  and  Lorrimer's  statement 
was  followed  by  a  sharp  altercation,  which  ended  in  Perrin's 
leaving  the  room  far  from  mollified  by  a  belated  retraction 
on  the  part  of  his  master,  who  had  remembered  suddenly 
that  he  could  not  dismiss  his  servant. 

The  telegram  was  from  Doctor  Chapman,  and  told  him 
that  Lady  Lorrimer  had  disappeared.  He  asked  Sir  John 
to  come  at  once,  as  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  and  added 
that  Mrs.  Hinton  had  gone  away  with  his  wife. 

Lorrimer  sat  down  at  the  table  and  tried  to  think.  He 
was  too  late  now,  and  the  Carstairs'  gang  had  outmanoeuvred 
him.  They  had  acted  at  once,  and  Cathy  was  free,  free  to 
tell  the  whole  of  her  world  that  her  husband  had  connived 
at  a  sordid  plan  to  shut  her  up  eternally  in  the  doomed  se- 
clusion of  a  madhouse.  He  was  innocent ;  that  was  the  main 
thing,  and,  if  it  became  necessary,  Monica  must  give  her 
testimony  to  the  fact.  She  had  kept  him  in  ignorance,  and 
had  used  her  own  medical  knowledge  to  blind  his  better 
judgment.  As  well  as  that — he  harked  back  again — had 
not  Doctor  Chapman  reported  his  wife  dangerously  mad? 

'  Cathy  was  out  of  the  place,  liberated  by  the  woman  who 
had  shown  the  sense  to  cut  loose  from  Amyas ;  and  to  take 
any  definite  steps  would  mean  fierce  collision  with  Cathy's 
allies.  The  idea  of  it  made  no  appeal  to  Lorrimer.  If  he 
acted  it  would  bring  about  conflict.  Suppose  he  let  the 
matter  drop?  If  he  told  Doctor  Chapman  that  he,  person- 
ally, declined  action,  Cathy  would  be  unmolested  and, 
possibly,  grateful.  To  clear  himself  with  her,  and  prevent 


CATHY  ROSSITER  355 

her  from  saying  anything,  Monica  must  be  got  to  make  a 
statement.  She  had  been  ready  enough  to  tell  him,  and 
if  she  was  so  conscientious,  she  might  well  tell  Cathy.  He 
knew  very  well  that  Cathy  was  incapable  of  rancour  or  re- 
venge, whatever  the  rest  of  them  might  feel,  and  she  repre- 
sented his  one  hope  for  peace.  Monica  put  the  onus  of  her 
own  act  upon  him,  saying  that  it  had  arisen  out  of  her  love 
of  him,  and  that  was  an  admission  she  must  not  make 
public,  even  if  she  wished  to.  On  every  side  he  was  hemmed 
in  and  helpless.  He  swore  under  his  breath,  and,  taking  a 
sheet  of  paper,  wrote  in  his  large,  scrawling  hand  that  he 
would  not  go  to  Welldon  Grange,  and  that  he  would  be 
obliged  to  Doctor  Chapman  if  he  took  no  steps  at  all.  One 
great  advantage  about  refusing  to  take  any  steps  would  be, 
that  he  could  never  be  obliged  to  retrace  them. 

Having  disposed  of  Doctor  Chapman  he  had  to  consider 
what  he  meant  to  say  to  Monica.  He  began  the  letter  with 
a  term  of  endearment  which  mocked  him  as  he  wrote  it. 
He  said  he  had  been  thinking  things  over,  and  that  he  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  they  must  part  for  a  time.  Cathy 
was  free,  freed  by  Lilian  Hinton,  and  he  did  not  know  where 
she  was,  nor  how  circumstances  were  likely  to  shape.  He 
had  not  been  responsible  for  her  incarceration  at  the  Grange, 
and  he  put  it  to  Monica  that,  as  Cathy  was  at  liberty,  she 
should  admit  that  she  herself  had  acted  without  full  con- 
sideration. "You  were  plain  enough  with  me  to-night,"  he 
wrote,  "but  that  is  no  use,  nor  is  your  reason — the  one 
you  gave  me — one  which  you  can  safely  refer  to;  but  in 
justice  to  Cathy,  now  that  there  is  likely  to  be  too  much 
talk,  can't  you  explain  that  you  acted  too  precipitately,  and 
that  you  must  see  her,  and  reconsider  your  former  conclu- 
sion as  to  the  state  of  her  health  ?" 

He  ended  by  saying  that  he  was  her  "loving  Jack,"  and  he 
posted  the  letter  himself  before  he  went  to  bed.  Monica 
would  get  it  in  the  morning,  and  so  be  able  to  act  before 
much  harm  had  been  done. 

Lorrimer  slept  very  little  that  night,  and  he  knew  that  he 
must  placate  Perrin  before  he  left  the  house,  but  Perrin  did 
not  appear,  and  the  housemaid  looked  after  him  at  break- 


356  CATHY  ROSSITER 

fast;  a  skittish  girl  with  large  eyes,  who  had  amused  him 
more  than  once  when  he  was  in  a  gala  mood.  He  was  in  no 
gala  mood  as  he  drank  his  coffee,  and  the  absence  of  Perrin 
was  depressing. 

The  need  for  action  was  upon  him,  and  very  soon  he 
went  out.  Cathy  was  probably  with  Lady  Carstairs,  and 
the  right  thing  to  do  was  to  present  himself  there  without 
delay.  He  could  tell  Cathy's  aunt  how  he  had  heard  the 
news  with  intense  relief.  He  could  tell  her,  quietly  and 
without  any  hesitation,  that  Monica  had  admitted  to  him 
that  her  own  decision  now  appeared  doubtful  to  her,  and  he 
would  urge  Lady  Carstairs  to  see  Monica  herself.  It  did 
not  seem  to  him  that  this  was  in  any  sense  a  betrayal  of 
Monica,  and  it  was  no  use  her  trying  to  push  him  under 
the  yoke  of  full  responsibility. 

When  he  came  to  the  steps  of  Lady  Carstairs'  house  he 
had  prepared  his  speech,  and  when  the  butler,  who  looked 
at  him  with  surprise,  said  that  he  was  not  sure  whether  her 
Ladyship  was  disengaged  or  not,  and  left  him  in  the  big 
drawing-room,  Lorrimer  was  quite  composed  and  even 
cheerful. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  manservant  reappeared,  and 
asked  whether  Sir  John  could  send  a  message  as  Lady  Car- 
stairs  was  unable  to  see  him.  It  was  a  rebuff,  but  he  had 
expected  it,  and  he  wrote  on  a  card,  "In  connection  with  C. 
Very  urgent,"  and  sat  down  again  to  wait.  He  was  quite 
sure  that  Aunt  Amy  would  never  refuse  that  bait. 

Nor  did  she,  for  she  came  into  the  room  soon  afterwards, 
•  and,  though  her  manner  was  icily  stiff,  he  had  forced  the 
position. 

"Yes?"  Lady  Carstairs  said,  and  she  did  not  sit  down. 

"Is  Cathy  here?"  he  asked,  and  his  voice  shook  in  spite 
of  himself. 

"Hen:?    What  do  you  mean?    You  know  where  she  is." 

"Lady  Carstairs,  you  misunderstand  the  situation,"  he 
said,  dropping  his  gloves  and  then  stooping  to  pick  them 
up.  "Only  last  night  I  was  informed  of  a  fact  which  has 
driven  me  nearly  off  my  head." 

Lady  Carstairs  showed  no  concern.     She  was  waiting 


CATHY  ROSSITER  357 

with  the  courteous  patience  of  the  generation  to  which  she 
belonged,  and  he  was  trying  her  considerably. 

"Two  facts,  I  should  say.  Though,  coming  in  the  order  in 
which  they  did,  I  was  relieved  beyond  speech  to  hear  that 
Mrs.  Hinton  had  taken  Cathy  away  from  Welldon  Grange." 

"The  asylum,"  Lady  Carstairs'  voice  faltered  in  spite  of 
herself.  "Lilian  has  helped  Cathy  to  escape?"  The  news 
was  so  sudden  and  so  grateful  to  Aunt  Amy  that  she  felt 
her  knees  give,  and  she  sat  down,  her  eyes  still  upon  Lorri- 
mer. 

"Give  me  this  chance,"  he  said  appealingly ;  "I  had  it  last 
night  from  Doctor  Henstock  that  she  had  doubts  all  the 
time  as  to  the  reality  of  Cathy's — er — attack.  It  was  cruelly 
unfair  to  me,  and  I  am  placed  in  a  position " 

"Unfair  to  you?"  Lady  Carstairs  was  rigid.  "What 
right  had  your  friend,  Doctor  Henstock,  to  find  out  at  this 
hour,  that  she  had  made  an  irreparable  mistake?" 

"Will  you  see  her,  and  let  her  tell  you  herself  ?" 

Lady  Carstairs  considered  for  a  moment. 

"I  refuse  to  see  her.  She  has  behaved  shamefully.  Now 
you  are  telling  me — are  you  not  ?"  she  looked  a  little  vague, 
"that  you  are  wronged  in  some  way."  She  got  up  again 
and  rang  the  bell.  "No  doubt  you  will  find  those  who  will 
listen  to  you,  but,  speaking  for  myself,  your  part  is  already 
quite  clear.  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,  except  that  I  am 
grateful  for  the  news  of  Cathy's  release.  She  is  not  here, 
nor  do  I  know  where  she  is." 

Lorrimer  was  dumbfounded.  Lady  Carstairs  was  having 
him  shown  out,  and  he  had  been  able  to  say  none  of  the 
things  which  he  wished  to  say  to  her.  She  was  hopelessly 
prejudiced,  and  apparently  cared  nothing  that  he  had  been 
let  down  by  Monica  Henstock. 

He  had  no  special  purpose  before  him  when  he  left  the 
house,  and  he  walked  into  the  park  and  sat  down  on  a  chair 
under  a  tree.  If  people  will  not  listen  to  your  reasons  it  is 
waste  of  time  to  talk  to  them,  and  his  thoughts  wandered 
to  Monica.  It  was  certainly  hard  upon  her  now,  horribly 
hard.  Why  did  things  turn  out  so  damnably?  Yet  he  felt 
sure  that  she  would  clear  him,  she  was  very  honest,  and 


358  CATHY  ROSSITER 

she  had  never  lied  to  man  or  woman.  His  sense  of  discom- 
fort deepened,  and  he  wondered  where  Cathy  really  was. 
Where  had  they  taken  her,  and  was  she  well  or  ill?  He 
had  heard  stories  of  asylums  which  came  back  to  him  now, 
though  he  could  not  believe  that  moderately  sane  people 
were  herded  in  with  raving  lunatics.  The  idea  was  tor- 
menting, and  he  got  up  from  his  chair,  and  walked  to  his 
club,  where  he  ordered  himself  a  stiff  drink. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  drive1  down  the  wide  avenue,  the  pause  at  the  gates, 
and  the  moment  when  the  car  sailed  quietly  clear  of  Well- 
don  Grange,  were  moments  of  sheer  bliss  to  Lilian  Hinton. 
The  chauffeur  had  orders  to  take  them  to  the  hotel,  and 
there  Lilian  and  Cathy  got  out.  The  car  was  then  closed, 
and  was  driven  slowly  back  past  the  gates,  and  in  a  cir- 
cuitous route  around  the  confluent  roads,  and,  before  lunch 
time,  the  chauffeur  delivered  a  note  from  Mrs.  Hinton, 
saying  that  she  had  kept  Cathy  to  lunch  in  a  village  some 
miles  away,  and  might  not  return  at  the  expected  time.  She 
also  said  that  Cathy  was  enjoying  the  change  immensely, 
and  that  there  was  no  need  for  anxiety. 

Meantime,  Cathy,  Lilian  and  Robert  were  tearing  at  top- 
speed  along  by-roads  and  unfrequented  ways,  and  the  dis- 
tance grew  with  each  minute. 

Cathy  had  been  startled  at  first,  and  had  shown  signs  of 
nervousness  when  they  arrived  at  the  hotel.  She  was  so 
glad  to  see  Robert  again  that  the  unexpectedness  of  it  all 
made  her  forget  herself,  and  when  he  told  her  that  he  had 
a  picnic-basket  in  his  car,  and  that  he  intended  to  race  her 
and  Lilian  miles  away,  she  was  like  an  excited  and  happy 
child  at  the  prospect.  She  and  Lilian  sat  in  the  back  of  the 
car  and  Robert  drove.  His  chauffeur  was  not  with  them, 
so  that  there  was  all  the  blessedness  of  absolute  intimacy 
around  her. 

"I  haven't  driven  in  a  car,  since  .  .  .  that  time,"  she  said, 
and  Lilian  slipped  her  arm  inside  that  of  her  friend.  ''I 
thought  I  was  going  back  to  Aunt  Amy." 

Lilian  squeezed  her  arm  affectionately. 

"Does  it  upset  you  to  talk  of  it  now?"  she  asked;  "if  it 
does,  Cathy,  don't  think  about  it.  When  a  thing  is  over,  it 
is  done  with." 

359 


360  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Ah,  but  it  isn't  over,"  Cathy's  face  grew  shadowed;  "I 
have  to  go  back."  She  breathed  quickly.  "Lil,  I  felt  f righf- 
ened  to  leave,  but  now  I  am  frightened  to  return.  You  see 
what  a  pulp  my  nerves  are  in." 

Lilian  could  feel  that  she  was  beginning  to  tremble,  and 
she  put  her  hands  over  Cathy's  firmly. 

"You  are  never  going  back,"  she  said;  "Robert  and  I  are 
taking  you  away  for  good." 

Cathy's  body  grew  suddenly  limp,  and  she  leaned  back. 
It  was  as  though  a  stone  had  been  rolled  away  from  the 
door  of  her  living  grave,  and  it  took  time  to  realise  what 
was  happening.  Lilian  watched  her  with  alarm ;  she  was  as 
white  as  a  ghost.  Perhaps  she  had  been  precipitate,  and  she 
Watched  the  colour  return  slowly  to  Cathy's  pale  cheeks. 

"Do  you  believe  that  I  am  not  mad?"  she  asked  eagerly. 
"Lil,  do  you  really  believe  that  ?" 

"I  don't  believe  you  ever  tried  to  kill  yourself,"  Lilian 
said. 

"I  was  very  ill  after  a  time  I  had  in  the  padded  cell.  .  .  ." 
she  wavered,  and  hid  her  face  on  Lilian's  shoulder.  "After 
that,  I  thought  they  might  be  right.  Aggy  believed  it,  and 
Doctor  Bracy.  You  see,  darling,"  she  explained,  "in  an 
asylum,  if  you  are  quick  and  excitable,  as  I  always  am,  it 
damns  you,  possibly  even  more  than  if  you  are  quiet — that 
is,  'morbid.'  Everything  is  a  sign  of  insanity,  and  I  used  to 
wonder  if  I  was  developing  tricks  or  habits.  The  faintest 
twitching  of  a  muscle,  or  some  way  of  jigging  your  foot  if 
you  sit  with  your  knees  crossed.  Lots  of  men  back  from 
France  couldn't  keep  their  feet  still,  I  had  noticed  that,  and 
you  see  these  things  growing  day  by  day  on  people  who  have 
weak  nerves.  I  start  now,  like  a  criminal,  if  I  hear  a  door 
bang,  but  I  don't  wink,  or  tug  at  my  ears,  or  bite  my  nails." 

"Don't,  Cathy,  don't,"  Lilian  said  in  a  stifled  voice.  "You 
never  were  mad,  and  you  aren't  mad  now.  Don't  talk  of 
it." 

Cathy  looked  down  at  their  locked  hands. 

"They  had  me  put  there  on  purpose?" 

"They  had,"  Lilian's  voice  was  low  and  intense.     She 


CATHY  ROSSITER  361 

could  never  bring  herself  to  think  of  Lorrimer  or  Monica 
without  a  sick  feeling  of  physical  repulsion. 

For  a  long  time  Cathy  said  nothing.  Just  then  she  wanted 
to  look  neither  forward  nor  back,  but  to  give  herself  up 
to  the  wonder  of  the  swift  motion,  the  free,  glad  sunlight, 
and  the  knowledge  that  she  was  not  ever  to  return.  It  was 
like  the  passing  out  of  a  life  of  continuous  pain  into  a 
region  of  the  blessed,  where  nothing  need  be  said,  but  the 
slow,  healing  waves  of  peace  might  lap  her  weary  soul; 
and  then,  quite  suddenly,  she  slept,  and  dreamed  of  wide 
waters  and  quiet  gardens  where  everything  was  well  with 
her  again. 

She  was  awakened  by  the  car  coming  to  a  standstill  in  a 
bowery  green  lane,  where  Robert  got  out  and  found  a  fallen 
tree  where  they  could  sit  and  eat  their  luncheon.  Cathy  felt 
as  though  she  was  only  half  conscious  of  what  was  happen- 
ing. She  sat  on  the  ivy-grown  tree  and  Robert  and  Lilian 
looked  after  her,  though  neither  of  them  talked  much,  and 
Cathy  looked  around  her  every  few  minutes  and  seemed  to 
be  telling  herself  that  she  was  free.  But  before  the  basket 
was  packed,  another  mood  had  come  upon  her,  and  she 
began  to  grow  nervous. 

"Robert,  we  ought  not  to  have  stopped,"  she  said ;  "what 
if  they  send  after  me  ?  If  they  were  to  bring  me  back  now," 
she  rose  to  her  feet  in  wild  alarm.  "Let  us  hurry,  Lil,  oh, 
tny  dear,  let  us  hurry.  I  feel  as  though  they  might  be  close 
to  us  somewhere." 

Lilian  comforted  her,  and  again  the  car  started.. 

"Are  we  going  to  London?"  Cathy  asked  anxiously;  "I 
don't  think  I  should  feel  safe  there.  Monica  is  in  London, 
and  she  and  he  will  hunt  me,  if  I  am  there.  Lil,  Lil,  hide 
me  in  a  place  they  won't  think  of.  I  can't  go  back,  and  I 
can't  see  Monica  or  Jack."  Tears  were  streaming  down  her 
face  as  she  spoke.  "Don't  let  them  find  me  again." 

"We  are  going  over  to  Ireland,"  Lilian  said,  quieting  her 
with  her  cool,  steady  hands,  "to  Parteen,  which  belongs  to 
Robert.  It  is  miles  from  everywhere,  and  Batkins  is  there." 

"They  might  have  let  me  go  to  Aunt  Amy,"  Cathy's  eyes 
Were  pathetic  in  their  misery.  "I  had  a  bad  row  with  Jack. 


362  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Did  you  know  that?  I  said  I  would  go  away,  and  if  we 
separated  I  would  not  ever  say  anything  .  .  .  but  I  suppose 
they  wanted  freedom." 

Lilian  made  an  inarticulate  sound  of  disgust. 

"I  don't  understand  even  now,"  Cathy  went  on.  "After 
all,  Lil,  I  was  clearing  out,  and  that  gave  them  almost  as 
much  as  they  could  hope  to  have,  even  with  me  in  an 
asylum." 

"I  can't  talk  of  them,"  Lilian  said  again ;  "I  suppose  they 
weighed  the  pros  and  cons,  and  there  was  Sir  John's  great 
career.  Rather  unfortunately,  from  his  point  of  view,  he  is 
now  mixed  up  with  the  Church  and  State  people.  The  hypo- 
crites who  have  to  be  careful  about  the  outside  of  the  cup 
and  platter,  and  so  on." 

"Are  they  together  ?    I  mean  openly  ?"  Cathy  asked. 

"Openly?  When  was  there  anything  open  about  either 
of  them?  Not  likely.  They  take  great  care  of  that." 

"And  Hammersly?  Is  he  still  in  power?  He  and  Mug- 
gins were  tremendously  friendly." 

"So  I  imagined,  but  I  know  nothing  of  the  man,  except 
that  he  got  a  job  which  Anthony  told  me  he  had  not  the 
smallest  claim  to  have.  The  price  of  his  dirty  work,  I 
expect,  for  Lorrimer  was  credited  with  having  done  the 
wire  pulling." 

"They  seem  all  of  them  a  long  way  off,  now/'  Cathy  said, 
resting  her  head  on  the  cushions  of  the  car.  "I  wish  I 
weren't  in  their  way,  Lil,  it  seems  stupid,  doesn't  it?  To 
me  they  are  all  part  of  a  ghastly  dream  which  just  now  I 
know  to  be  a  dream,  but  I  also  know  that  there  must  be 
times  when  it  will  grow  real;  and  I  shall  need  all  the  help  , 
I  can  get." 

"You  will  never  need  anything  which  we  shall  not  give 
you,"  Lilian  said,  smiling  at  her;  "rest  your  mind  on  that 
thought,  Cath." 

The  night  mail  thundered  and  swept  on  its  way  to  Angle- 
sey, taking  the  three  fugitives  through  the  dark,  sleeping 
country.  The  mail  steamer,  with  the  lights  shining  in  the 
rigging  and  making  clear,  yellow  avenues  from  the  port 


CATHY  ROSSITER  363 

holes,  was  waiting  to  take  them  out  to  face  the  stiff  seas 
outside  the  harbour.  It  seemed  to  Cathy  that,  until  she  felt 
the  motion  of  the  ship  and  heard  the  hoarse,  long-drawn  hoot 
of  departure,  she  had  not  even  begun  to  recognise  herself 
as  a  free  agent.  She  would  not  go  down  to  her  cabin,  but 
sat  on  deck  with  Robert,  wrapped  in  a  thick  coat  of  his 
which  he  had  brought  for  her,  the  wind  stinging  her  face, 
and  the  waves  racing  under  the  broken  reflections  of  a  high- 
riding  moon. 

Life  was  being  poured  back  into  her  veins,  and  at  times 
the  joy  she  experienced  hurt  like  pain,  it  was  so  overwhelm- 
ing, and  she  could  not  restrain  her  tears. 

"Don't  cry,  Cathy,  don't  cry,"  Amyas  said,  and  he  patted 
her  arm.  "It's  all  over  now." 

"Don't  you  know  that  I'm  crying  for  joy?"  she  said,  and 
he  watched  her  smile  at  him,  the  moonlight  lighting  her 
face.  "It's  awfully  unusual  to  cry  for  joy,  Robert,  but  then 
everything  is  unusual,  and  it  fits  in  with  the  rest.  I  thought 
I  was  never  going  to  be  happy  again,  and  now  I  am  so 
happy  that  I  feel  as  if  really  and  truly  I  might  go  mad  at 
last." 

"Don't  ever  say  that  word  again,"  he  said.  "How  do  you 
think  Lilian  is?  It's  funny  that  she  and  I  should  be  run- 
ning away  together  with  the  full  consent  of  Hinton." 

"And  I  am  here,  as  chaperon,"  Cathy  a3ded. 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  you  like  that,"  he  said.  "You're 
not  demure  enough,  Cathy,"  he  pulled  himself  up  short. 
"You  know  I've  missed  you  a  great  deal." 

"And  I,  haven't  I  missed  you?"  she  said.  "You  know  I 
have.  Let  us  try  and  quarrel  a  little,  for  the  sake  of  old 
times." 

She  looked  so  worn  and  so  tragic,  as  she  turned  in  her 
old,  wilful  way  to  him,  that  Amyas  could  hardly  bear  the 
sense  of  contrast  which  the  recollection  brought  with  it. 

"I'll  quarrel  as  much  as  you  like,  when  you  are  fit  again," 
he  said,  and  Cathy  put  a  cold  hand  from  under  the  coat,  and 
let  it  lie  in  his. 

"Robert,  are  you  you?'  she  asked  him. 

Why,  oh  why  did  she  look  so  fragile,  so  visionary,  so 


364  CATHY  ROSSITER 

much  as  though  only  a  hand's  span  divided  her  from  the 
silence  beyond  this  world,  as  impenetrable  as  a  hundred 
stone  walls?  He  was  torn  with  a  new  fear.  Cathy  might 
leave  them  now,  and  go  away  to  the  "Perhaps"  or  the 
"Forever,"  or  whatever  name  you  chose  to  give  the  place 
which  can  only  be  imagined.  "I'm  rather  like  the  Happy 
Hypocrite,"  he  said.  "I  put  on  a  mask  to  improve  my 
appearance,  by  now  I  may  really  be  quite  decent  looking." 

Cathy  smiled.    "You  are  still  mon  ami  Pierrot." 

She  said  nothing  for  a  time,  and  then  she  spoke  again. 

"I  have  reckoned  up  my  own  futility,"  she  said  at  last. 
"I  fell  in  love  with  an  imaginary  clean  sweep,  and  sweeps 
can't  ever  be  clean,  any  kind  of  sweep." 

"Sweeps  are  usually  pretty  sweepish  all  through,"  Amyas 
agreed.  "Don't  worry  about  them,  Cath.  You're  on  your 
way  to  Ireland  where  no  one  bothers  about  such  things. 
We  will  light  our  fires  in  the  open,  if  you  like  it  best,  and 
have  no  chimneys." 

She  was  very  tired  now,  and  he  settled  her  cushions  for 
her  and  sat  by  her  as  she  lay  back  with  closed  eyes. 

"Do  you  remember  how  I  once  found  you  asleep  on  the 
sofa?"  she  asked,  raising  her  lids.  "I  told  you  that,  if  you 
knew  that  you  snored,  you  wouldn't  take  those  beastly 
things." 

"I  gave  them  up  after  that,"  he  was  pleased  to  tell  her 
this.  "I  couldn't  go  on  snoring  on  people's  sofas.  Vanity 
is  a  much  safer  thing  to  appeal  to  than  virtue." 

Her  eyes  closed  again.  "If  I  snore,  don't  wake  me,"  she 
said,  "but  my  nose  isn't  that  shape.  That  is  one  of  the 
advantages  of  having  my  kind  of  nose." 

"Hush-a-bye,  baby,"  Robert  said,  in  his  drawling,  sophis- 
ticated voice,  which  always  suggested  mountains  of  money 
and  endless  leisure.  But  his  eyes  felt  hot  and  strained, 
and  they  filled  with  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

ROBERT  crossed  back  to  England  the  following  night,  leav- 
ing Lilian  and  Miss  Batten  in  charge  of  Cathy.  She  was 
suffering  from  reaction,  and  he  was  still  dreadfully  anx- 
ious about  her,  but  he  believed  in  the  healing  process 
which  lay  in  the  quiet  of  Parteen.  The  mountains,  the 
heather-clothed  uplands  and  the  silence,  combined  with  the 
flowing  of  quiet  waters,  all  made  for  untold  peace. 

It  was  going  to  take  a  long  time  for  Cathy  to  arrive  at 
recovery,  and  the  awful  horror  of  her  experience  would 
fade  out  very  slowly,  until  the  active  torture  of  her  mem- 
ories grew  dim  and  the  pain  of  her  recollections  waned  into 
forgetfulness.  He  had  been  very  reluctant  to  leave,  but  he 
decided  that  he  must  go  to  London.  Lady  Carstairs  had  to 
be  told,  and  Lilian  could  not  remain  long  away.  Aunt  Amy 
was  to  be  summoned  with  a  capable  nurse  who  wore  no  uni- 
form, and  Cathy  could  gradually  be  brought  back  to  life. 
Her  vitality  had  failed  suddenly,  and  he  left  her  lying  in 
her  bed,  close  to  the  open  window  which  faced  the  ravine 
below  the  house.  Parteen  had  melancholy  moods  when 
giant  mists  came  down  the  mountains  and  folded  the  miles 
of  black  fir-trees  and  tangle  of  rhododendrons  in  a  thick, 
damp  veil,  but  even  then  it  was  a  place  of  peace,  and  Amyas 
was  glad  that  Cathy  should  first  see  it  under  a  shining  sky. 
A  wind,  as  soft  as  silk,  "Shelley's  West  Wind"  Cathy  called 
it,  was  coming  through  the  open  window.  She  had  only 
spoken  very  little. 

"There  are  other  flowers  growing  in  the  grasses  and  the 
heather  besides  those  we  can  see,"  she  said ;  "little  flowers 
of  hope,  Robert,  and  when  I  am  stronger  I  can  go  out  and 
pick  some  of  them  to  keep  always." 

"Will  you  give  me  one  when  you  do?"  he  isked  her 
slowly. 

365 


366  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"Yes,  I  will,"  she  smiled  her  flitting,  ghostly  little  smile. 

"Take  care  of  her,  Lilian,"  he  said,  as  he  stood  ready  to 
depart.  "I'm  so  dreadfully  anxious  all  the  time." 

Lilian  squeezed  his  hand  hard.  "It  has  made  you  dif- 
ferent." 

"She  won't  ever  care,"  he  said,  rocking  a  little  on  his 
long  legs,  with  his  old  indifferent  manner. 

"I  don't  know,"  Lilian's  eyes  grew  speculative. 

"I'm  not  really  thinking  of  myself,"  he  said,  half  apolo- 
getically. "Nothing  matters,  except  that  she  should  get 
well.  By  the  way,  I  intend  to  settle  my  account  with  Lorri- 
mer." 

"She  must  get  rid  of  him,"  Lilian  said  emphatically.  "Go 
to  him  and  force  him  to  tell  the  truth.  Don't  spare  them, 
Robert,  for  my  sake,  even ;  let  it  be  fire  and  slaughter." 

He  drove  away  on  a  ramshackle  side-car  down  the  deep 
sandy  avenue  which  wound  up  ,and  down  hill  through  two 
miles  of  wild  demesne,  the  brown  trout  stream  bearing  him 
company  along  the  left  bank.  The  rhododendrons  were  in 
full  flower,  and  ranged  from  the  palest  pink  to  soft  rose- 
crimson,  and  from  royal  purple  to  the  sad,  soft  colour  of 
palest  mauve.  Cathy  would  live  on  the  feast  of  colour, 
and  the  place  was  gorgeously  wild.  No  smooth  lawns,  no 
trimmed  hedges  to  recall  the  asylum  grounds.  God  had 
planted  Parteen,  much  as  He  might  have  planted  the  origi- 
nal Eden,  and  man  had  done  nothing  to  spoil  it.  The  larches 
and  firs,  the  birches  and  the  stunted  oaks,  were  the  home  of 
innumerable  wild  birds,  and  beyond  and  over  all,  the  Slieve 
Na  Mon  mountains  guarded  the  secret  place  like  a  great 
wall;  blue,  grey  and  purple,  they  brooded  over  the  place 
below. 

From  the  lagt  turn  in  the  long  avenue  Amyas  looked  back 
to  the  white  house  on  the  distant  plateau,  and  raised  his  hat 
in  salute.  Cathy  was  safe  there,  he  thanked  God  for  that, 
and  as  Amyas  had  only  rarely  thanked  God  for  anything,  it 
may  have  been  that  his  gratitude  was  noted  in  some  spiritual 
sphere. 

He  travelled  up  to  Dublin  and  caught  the  night  mail  to 
Holyhead,  and  the  early  morning  found  him  in  the  noise 


CATHY  ROSSITER  367 

and  confusion  of  London  again.  When  he  had  slept  for  an 
hour  and  finished  his  breakfast,  he  went  at  once  to  see  Lady 
Carstairs,  and  told  her  the  incidents  of  the  escape. 

"Sir  John  Lorrimer  has  been  here,"  she  said,  when  he 
had  finished.  "I  saw  him,  because  he  sent  me  a  message  to 
say  that  his  business  was  urgent  and  concerned  Cathy.  He 
actually  dared  to  imply  that  he  had  been  wronged  and  de- 
ceived." 

Lady  Carstairs  looked  very  majestic  and  angry  as  she 
spoke. 

"Who  by?"  Amyas  asked.  "Whom  does  he  accuse  of 
his  own  sins?  I  did  not  expect  he  would  admit  to  them, 
Aunt  Amy,  but  it  is  quite  interesting  to  hear  who  is  held 
responsible." 

"Monica  Henstock,"  she  said,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoul- 
ders. "He  actually  suggested  that  I  should  see  the  woman 
myself." 

Amyas  whistled  under  his  breath.  "So  he  wants  to  do 
her  in  now,  does  he?" 

Amyas  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window,  thinking  care- 
fully. 

"On  the  whole,"  Amyas  said,  coming  back  to  his  chair, 
"I  think  that  I  had  better  see  Doctor  Henstock.  Whatever 
she  may  have  to  say,  it  ought  to  be  enlightening." 

"Robert,  one  question,"  Lady  Carstairs  hesitated  pain- 
fully, "Is  her  mind  affected?  After  such  a  terrible  time 
this  might  so  easily  have  happened,  for  darling  Cathy  was 
always  a  little  different  to  most  people." 

He  lowered  his  eyes.  "It  has  marked  her  for  life.  She 
won't  ever  be  as  she  once  was,  and  only  we  who  knew  her 
before  will  see  the  old  Cathy  again." 

Lady  Carstairs,  stern  disciplinarian  of  the  old  regime, 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  cried. 

"My  poor  child,  my  poor,  poor  Cathy,"  she  said. 

"She  will  always  be  the  same  to  us,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  and  Aunt  Amy  looked  up,  recovering  herself. 

"You  are  a  good  man,  Robert,"  she  said,  "though  I  had 
not  thought  it.  I  must  be  honest,  and  though  I  always  liked 


368  CATHY  ROSSITER 

you  very  much,  I  never  admired  your  qualities.  Will  you 
forgive  me?" 

"I  can  forgive  you,"  he  said  with  a  smile  of  amusement. 

"Cathy  who  wanted  to  reform  the  whole  world,"  Lady 
Carstairs  said  sadly.  "Ah,  dear  me." 

"Well,  she  has  reformed  me,  I  suppose.  That  wasn't 
altogether  easy,  but  it  may  encourage  her,  when  she  is  well 
enough  to  want  to  begin  all  over  again." 

He  left  her  after  a  little  more  talk  of  plans  and  went 
straight  to  the  house  of  Monica  Henstock,  with  its  demure 
door  and  well-polished  brass.  Doctor  Henstock  was  inter- 
viewing a  patient,  and  Amyas  had  to  wait  in  a  room  off  the 
hall,  where  he  turned  the  pages  of  various  journals  and 
tried  not  to  watch  the  clock  all  the  time. 

At  length  Miss  Batten's  successor  came,  and  told  him 
that  Doctor  Henstock  could  give  him  five  minutes,  and  he 
found  her  with  her  watch  on  the  table,  and  the  expression 
of  her  face  anything  but  encouraging. 

She  seemed  immensely  surprised  that  he  had  come  to 
her,  and  asked  him  to  sit  down  in  a  chair  facing  the  window. 

"Don't  trouble  to  look  for  symptoms,"  he  said  easily,  "I 
am  not  ill,  Doctor  Henstock.  I  came  here  to  ask  you  a  few 
questions." 

Monica  took  off  her  glasses.  Of  late  her  sight  had  begun 
to  trouble  her  a  little  and  she  was  wearing  pince-nez. 

"What  is  it  that  you  want  to  know  ?"  she  said,  and  Robert, 
for  all  his  anger,  felt  a  touch  of  pity.  Monica  was  wither- 
ing rather  than  fading,  and  she  looked  as  though  she  had 
troubles  of  her  own. 

"It  appears,"  he  said,  and  he  spoke  without  rancour, 
^'that  Sir  John  Lorrimer  visited  Lady  Carstairs  and  re- 
ferred her  to  you  for  full  information  about  Miss  Rossiter. 
Were  you  certain  when  you,  rather  precipitately,  shut  her 
up  in  an  asylum  ?"  He  began  to  hate  her  again  suddenly. 

His  words  took  immediate  effect,  and  Monica  flushed,  and 
began  to  touch  the  boxes  and  notebooks  on  her  table  ner- 
vously. 

"I  certified  Cathy  with  great  reluctance,"  she  said.  "You 
-will  believe  that,  Mr.  Amyas  ?" 


CATHY  ROSSITER  369 

"I  will  try  to  believe  it." 

"In  cases  of  the  kind,  it  is  often  a  very  urgent  matter. 
If  one  waits  for  further  corroboration  it  may  mean  disaster 
to  the  patient " 

Amyas  interrupted  her  very  politely.  "Did  you  definitely 
believe  Miss  Rossiter  to  be  mad?" 

"There  were  times  when  I  was  convinced,"  Monica  said, 
and  her  voice  sounded  tired  and  exhausted.  "But  the  pain 
it  all  cost  me  has  frequently  dragged  me  back  and  back 
over  the  events  previous  to  Cathy's  certification.  I  am 
only  human,  and  I  loved  her  devotedly." 

Her  manner  was  so  sincere  that  Amyas  stared  at  her  in 
wonder.  Had  the  woman  allowed  herself  to  be  deceived, 
and  was  she  really  speaking  quite  frankly  ? 

"Did  your  love  for  her  take  any  practical  form?"  he 
asked,  angry  with  himself  for  the  touch  of  pity  he  had  felt. 
"Did  you,  for  instance,  go  to  the  asylum  and  see  her  there  ?"" 

Monica  shook  her  head  silently. 

"Miss  Rossiter  is  free  again,  and  her  friends  are  anxious 
to  clear  her  finally  and  fully  from  the  accusation  of  in- 
sanity." He  drew  his  chair  closer  to  the  table,  and,  as  she  - 
did  not  reply,  he  went  on.  "If  you  and  the  wretched  crea- 
ture, Luke,  who  was  your  accomplice  will  make  an  honest 
statement  that  you  both  admit  you  were  wrong,  and  that  the 
facts  with  which  you  furnished  the  asylum  doctors  were  a 
fabrication,  I  fully  believe  that  they  will  see  that  their  own 
error  arose  from  your  mis-statement.  You  cannot  give 
her  back  her  health  or  happiness,  you  can  never  undo  the 
ghastly  wrong  you  have  done  to  her,  but  at  least  that  very 
small  amount  of  reparation  lies  in  your  power." 

Monica  was  ashy  white,  and  all  her  self-assurance  had 
vanished  suddenly.  She  seemed  to  be  driven  by  many 
thoughts  the  trend  of  which  Amyas  could  not  guess. 

"You  ask  me  to — what  was  it?"  she  faltered. 

"To  make  what  reparation  lies  in  your  power,  and  to 
get  Doctor  Chapman  to  rescind  his  own  judgment,"  Robert 
said  fiercely.  "Whether  she  will  ever  recover  her  health, 
God  knows.  In  any  case,"  he  went  on  more  quietly,  "Sir 
John  Lorrimer  is  anxious  to  be  cleared,  if  that  is  an  added 


370  CATHY  ROSSITER 

argument.  He  has  told  Lady  Carstairs  that  you  misled 
him." 

"Not  that,  not  that,"  Monica's  voice  broke  out  like  a  cry 
into  the  room;  it  was  as  though  some  intolerable  weight 
had  been  added  to  the  burden  she  carried. 

"Yes,  he  has,"  Amyas  repeated  the  words.  "If  you  are 
not  prepared  to  act  honestly  for  her  sake,  you  may  see  your 
way  to  doing  what  he  wishes." 

Monica  got  up,  and,  pressing  her  hands  over  her  eyes, 
walked  blindly  to  the  fire-place  and  stood  with  her  back  to 
Amyas.  After  a  time  she  spoke,  and  her  voice  was  tre- 
mulous and  overcharged  with  strong  feeling. 

"I  am  not  being  fairly  treated,"  she  said.  "What  I  said 
to  Sir  John  was  spoken  under  a  sense  of  great  trouble  of 
mind.  My  mind  has  been  very  much  troubled  about  it 
all. 

"So  I  should  suppose,"  Amyas  replied. 

"If,  however,  it  will  be  of  advantage  to  Cathy,  I  will  do 
what  you  wish.  I  will  make  a  report  for  the  asylum  doctors 
and  they  must  decide  for  themselves.  Also,  I  should  like 
to  say  that  Sir  John  is  quite  clear.  He  had  to  act  upon 
the  advice  I  gave  him.  There  is  no  blame  whatever  at- 
tached to  him." 

Amyas  looked  at  her  back,  and  saw  that  her  bowed  shoul- 
ders heaved  slightly. 

"There  is  nothing  I  can  say,"  he  said  as  he  got  up  and 
prepared  to  leave,  "except  that  I  pity  anyone  who  puts  an 
ounce  of  trust  in  Colonel  Lorrimer's  good  faith." 

She  made  no  effort  to  reply,  and  she  did  not  speak  to  him 
again  as  he  left.  What  a  queer  mixture  she  was,  he  thought. 
She  had  admitted  to  having  acted  without  telling  Lorrimer, 
and  she  persuaded  him  that  his  wife  was  mad.  It  was  a 
cynical  business  at  best,  but  she  and  Lorrimer  should  eat 
their  lies,  every  damned  one  of  them.  Until  he  had  seen 
Lorrimer,  he  felt  that  no  real  rest  lay  anywhere,  and  he 
went  back  to  his  rooms  again,  intending  to  choose  the  same 
hour  as  that  of  his  last  visit,  in  the  hope  of  catching  the 
Member  for  Kingslade  before  he  had  gone  out ;  and  it  was 
with  some  surprise  that  he  found  a  man  waiting  to  see  him, 


CATHY  ROSSITER  37I 

who  informed  him  that  he  was  Sir  John  Lorrimer's  valet, 
and  that  he  had  something  important  to  say. 

"Well,  say  it  to  someone  else,"  he  said  rudely;  "I  don't 
want  you  here." 

The  man  did  not  stir.  "It  will  be  worth  your  while,"  he 
said  stoically. 

Amyas  wavered,  and  flung  open  the  door  of  his  room. 
"Go  in,"  he  said ;  "you're  for  auction,  I  suppose  ?" 
"Precisely,  sir,"  the  man  replied  respectfully. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  Robert  Amyas  stood  before 
the  door  of  Lorrimer's  flat,  and  was  admitted  by  a  hesitat- 
ing maidservant.  Sir  John  was  in,  she  said,  and  had  not 
gone  to  bed,  but  she  was  not  sure  if  he  wished  to  receive 
visitors.  Amyas  assured  her  that  she  need  not  make  further 
inquiries,  as  Sir  John  expected  him,  and  he  walked  in  and 
put  down  his  hat  on  a  carved  rug  box  near  the  door.  The 
girl,  evidently  a  new  hand  at  admitting  guests,  had  for- 
gotten to  ask  Amyas  his  name,  and  showed  him  silently  to 
the  smoking-room,  where  Lorrimer  was  sitting  at  a  roll- 
topped  desk  writing  letters. 

He  looked  round  in  surprise,  and  when  he  saw  who  his 
visitor  was  he  immediately  became  hostile.  There  was  dis- 
composure behind  the  heavy  face  and  the  large  majesty  of 
Sir  John's  demeanour,  and  he  only  made  a  vague  attempt  to 
rise  as  he  recognised  his  guest. 

"You  choose  strange  hours  for  your  visits,"  he  said,  re- 
membering carefully  that  he  was  in  the  right,  and  that  there 
was  nothing  against  him.  "Anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 

The  question  pleased  him  as  he  asked  it.  It  reduced 
Amyas  to  the  position  of  a  suitor  who  comes  to  ask  for 
favours,  and  Lorrimer  felt  that  he  had  begun  well. 

"If  you  like  to  put  it  that  way,"  Robert  replied.  "I  don't 
particularly  want  to  sit  down,  but,  as  there  is  a  good  deal 
to  say,  it  may  be  as  well." 

He  pulled  up  a  chair  as  he  spoke.  Lorrimer  was  going 
to  try  bullying  methods,  that  was  perfectly  clear,  and  Amyas 
decided  not  to  give  him  a  start. 


372  CATHY  ROSSITER 

'This  morning,"  he  continued,  "I  went  to  see  Doctor 
Henstock.'" 

"Oh?"  Lorrimer's  tone  was  guarded.  They  had  done 
as  he  wished,  eventually,  and  he  was  not  displeased.  It  was 
a  great  consolation  at  that  moment  to  feel  so  sure  of  Moni- 
ca's integrity. 

"She  cleared  you  of  all  complicity  in  the  matter  of  Miss 
Rossiter's  fraudulent  certification,"  Robert  said  quite  ami- 
ably. "In  fact  she  agrees  to  take  the  onus  upon  her  own 
shoulders.  Doctor  Luke  is  expected  in  Liverpool  next  week, 
and  we  are  arranging  now  for  a  special  inquiry  into  Miss 
Rossiter's  case.  The  result  will  be  that  she  will  be  cleared 
of  the  accusation  made  against  her  sanity.  You  realise,  of 
•course,  that  this  ruins  Doctor  Henstock  professionally?" 

Lorrimer  did  not  relish  the  information,  but  his  attitude 
remained  self-possessed. 

"I  am  very  anxious  that  my  wife  should  be  cleared,"  he 
said  ponderously.  "It  is  a  most  imp6rtant  point.  You  say 
that  you  have  arranged  for  a  special  inquiry.  I  am  much 
obliged.  I  will  approach  the  Commissioners  at  once." 

"I  think  not,"  Robert's  voice  was  intensely  quiet.  "It 
will  be  done  without  reference  to  you." 

The  sense  of  something  behind  Robert's  words  struck 
Lorrimer  very  unpleasantly,  but  he  spoke  without  heat. 

"I  can't  allow  that,  Amyas;  I  admit  that  the  conditions 
are  difficult.  For  instance,  I  am  at  present  ignorant  of 
where  my  wife  actually  is.  When  I  discover  this,  I  shall 
go  to  her." 

"I  think  not,"  Amyas  said  again. 

"It  hardly  matters  what  you  think,"  Lorrimer's  tones 
grew  angry.  "When  my  wife  realises  that  the  whole  thing 
was  a  monstrous  mistake,  and  that  I  was  in  no  way  party 
to  the  error,  she  will  not  thank  you  for  your  present  atti- 
tude." 

"You  are  satisfied  that  Doctor  Henstock  should  be  held 
entirely  responsible  ?" 

"Certainly,"  Lorrimer  became  aggrieved;  "I  don't  see 
"how  it  can  be  otherwise.  She  took  that  responsibility  when 
she  led  me  to  believe  Cathy  was  mad." 


CATHY  ROSSITER  373 

Amyas  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  looked  round  the  room 
as  though  it  suffocated  him.  The  natural  stolidity  and  ob- 
tuseness  of  Lorrimer  was  helping  him,  but  Robert  promised 
himself  that  he  would  make  him  change  his  front  before 
he  had  done. 

"You  have  no  protective  feeling  towards  Doctor  Hen- 
stock?"  he  asked.  "No  desire  at  all  to  shelter  her  in  any 
way  from  the  racket?" 

"My  good  fellow,"  Lorrimer  said  irritably,  "what  are 
you  driving  at?  Doctor  Henstock  was  Cathy's  medical 
adviser,  and  I  was  at  the  mercy  of  her  judgments.  You 
speak  as  though  I  put  up  a  job.  There  was  no  job  about  it. 
Miss  Henstock  acted  precipitately.  Anyhow,  /  am,  after 
my  wife,  the  most  injured  person.  How  would  you  like  to 
be  in  my  place  ?" 

"I  should  hate  it,"  Amyas  agreed  almost  cordially.  "I 
only  asked  these  questions  so  that  I  should  know  how  far 
you  were  disposed  to  sacrifice  Doctor  Henstock  so  that  you 
might  escape  your  share  of  blame." 

Lorrimer  hummed,  and  moved  in  his  chair.  It  would  be 
almost  worth  it  to  kick  Amyas  out. 

"Blame,  sacrifice?  What  are  you  talking  of?"  he  said. 
"I  don't  understand  a  word  of  it.  My  wife  is  now  at  liberty, 
thanks  to  Mrs.  Hinton,"  he  gave  a  sideways  smile  that  he 
felt  would  draw  Amyas ;  "probably  in  a  few  weeks  she  will 
be  back  at  Kingslade.  No  one  knows  where  she  has  been, 
and,  though  I  quite  agree  to  the  inquiry,  it  seems  unneces- 
sary in  a  way.  Of  course  it  will  be  private?  If  so,  how 
does  Doctor  Henstock  suffer  ?  Who  is  to  know  ?" 

"People  have  a  way  of  finding  things  out,"  Amyas  re- 
plied, and  he  got  up,  his  thin,  dark  face  alight  with  feeling 
and  his  bored  manner  entirely  in  abeyance  for  the  moment. 
"As  for  Miss  Rossiter's  return  to  Kingslade,  she  will  never 
do  that.  You  nearly  killed  her."  He  put  his  hands  on  the 
table  and  leaned  forward.  "You  will  have  your  freedom  in 
any  case." 

Sir  John  Lorrimer's  hands  grew  cold  and  damp,  and  he 
felt  for  his  pocket-handkerchief.  Alarms  were  awake  in 
him. 


374  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"What  are  you  talking  of?"  he  demanded,  and  Amyas 
looked  at  him  with  limitless  scorn  in  his  eyes. 

"It  hardly  seems  worth  while  my  telling  you  what  I 
think  of  you,"  he  said;  "you  will  get  all  you  need  of  public 
abuse  presently,  except  that  your  worst  crime  can,  for  ob- 
vious reasons,  not  be  made  known."  He  watched  Lorrimer 
rise  heavily  to  his  feet.  "Perhaps,  even  after  the  divorce, 
Doctor  Henstock  will  still  care  to  marry  you.  She  sold  her 
friend,  so  it  isn't  easy  for  me  to  judge." 

"After  the  divorce?  Look  here,  Amyas,  someone  has 
been  libelling  me.  I  must  have  this  out." 

"No  one  has  been  libelling  you.  I  have  the  facts  quite 
definitely.  Your  own  people  will  advise  you,  I  suppose.  If 
you  defend  the  action,  so  much  the  more  for  the  Sunday 
papers  to  report  upon." 

"It's  a  lie,"  Lorrimer  shouted,  "a  damned  lie,"  and  Amyas 
turned  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"I  always  knew  you  were  a  swine,"  he  said,  "always.  I 
don't  think  you  are  any  more  of  one  than  I  fully  expected 
you  to  be,"  and  he  left  Lorrimer  alone  with  his  thoughts. 

Stupid,  blind  and  cowardly,  he  had  thrown  away  every- 
thing, and  for  what  ?  He  had  no  luck.  Plenty  of  men  lived 
lives  beside  which  his  relations  with  Monica  had  been  al- 
most ideal,  and  they  never  got  caught  out.  Hammersly  had 
once  said  to  him  that  he  was  running  into  danger — that  was 
before  the  break — and  that  it  was  a  bad  mistake  of  judg- 
ment to  have  such  a  connection  with  a  woman  in  his  own 
class.  "If  it  ever  does  come  to  light,  it's  taken  seriously," 
he  had  said;  "with  the  others,  no  one  gives  it  a  thought." 

And  Monica,  what  would  she  think?  Their  united  pub- 
licity was  going  to  send  the  whole  structure  of  his  career  to 
the  ground.  He  wondered  if  he  had  the  courage  to  face  it. 
Any  love  he  had  felt  for  Monica  was  lost  in  the  whirlwind 
of  dismay.  Cathy  had  been  his,  Cathy  with  her  rainbow  of 
mystery;  he  felt  now  that  he  had  loved  her  with  the  one 
real  love  of  his  life,  and  he  had  been  fooled  by  Monica,  who 
had  played  her  hand  with  the  recklessness  of  passion.  God ! 
what  a  business,  what  a  hopeless,  murky  business!  He 
grew  more  and  more  sorry  for  himself.  Was  he  to  be  tied 


CATHY  ROSSITER  375 

for  life  to  Monica  Henstock,  a  bitter,  disappointed  woman, 
whose  career  had  meant  as  much  to  her  as  his  own  had 
ever  meant  to  him.  Monica  would  marry  him,  she  had 
meant  to  do  that  always.  Now  she  would  be  able  to  do  it, 
and  he  supposed  that  he  should  have  to  "do  the  right  thing." 
They  could  hate  each  other  into  old  age,  and  throw  mutual 
recriminations  at  one  another  across  the  dreadful  gulf  which 
separated  them. 

Perrin  was  the  offender,  of  course.  Perrin  had  heard 
him  and  Amyas  quarrelling,  and  had  known  where  to  carry 
his  dirty  wares.  Lorrimer  sat  down  and  put  his  hands  over 
his  face,  and  never,  in  his  bitter  hour,  did  he  think  either  of 
Cathy's  sufferings,  nor  of  what  his  own  conduct  must  look 
like  in  the  eyes  of  Monica  Henstock ;  Monica,  who  had  once 
been  honest. 

At  length  he  went  to  the  telephone.  Monica  had  a  tele- 
phone beside  her  bed,  so  that  she  could  be  called  up  at  any 
hour,  as  she  frequently  was,  and  he  began  to  speak.  He 
told  her  that  Amyas  had  been  there,  and  he  heard  her  voice, 
strained  and  wretched,  saying  that  she  had  done  all  she 
could. 

"I  took  all  the  blame.  That  was  what  you  wanted  me  to 
do,  wasn't  it?" 

"They  are  arranging  an  inquiry,  and  all  the  evidence  will 
be  gone  into,"  he  said.  "But  what  really  matters  is  that 
they  have  found  out." 

In  his  mind  he  pictured  Monica  sitting  up  in  her  bed,  the 
receiver  in  her  hands,  and  her  eyes  wild  and  staring.  She 
did  not  answer  at  once,  and  he  spoke  again.  "I  tell  you, 
it's  known  now.  Perrin  has  given  the  whole  show  away." 

"Jack !  It  must  be  stopped.  For  your  sake  most  of  all, 
but  for  mine  also.  I  can't  stand  a  case  of  the  kind.  It 
must  be  stopped." 

What  a  fool  she  was,  bleating  like  a  sheep  that  "it  must 
be  stopped,"  and  talking  of  herself— of  course— and  her 
twopenny-halfpenny  career  as  a  doctor. 

"I  shall  be  ruined,"  he  said  tersely.  "If  you  hadn't  let 
me  down  over  Cathy  this  need  not  have  been.  It's  pretty 


376  CATHY  ROSSITER 

stiff,  but  it's  going  to  come  off.  All  the  Carstairs  gang  are 
in  full  cry." 

"Jack,"  her  tones  were  pleading,  as  though  she  begged 
of  him  to  leave  her  at  least  one  illusion. 

"I  am  going  to  Paris  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "and  after 
that  I  shall  not  see  you  until  it  is  over.  What's  the  use  ?  .  .  . 
I'm  going  to  do  the  right  thing,  so  don't  get  hysterical."  He 
listened,  but  no  reply  came.  "I  shall  put  you  right,"  he 
said  again,  in  the  same  savage  voice,  and  again  he  listened, 
but  there  was  complete  silence.  Monica  had  rung  off !  He 
put  down  the  receiver  roughly.  She  hadn't  even  an  ounce 
of  gratitude,  and,  instead  of  saying  that  she  felt  he  was 
behaving  well,  she  was  entirely  silent. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

Two  years  had  made  their  slow  circle  of  the  seasons,  and 
Cathy  had  returned  to  life  again.  She  bore  about  her  the 
faint  traces  of  long  suffering  now  past,  and,  though  the 
shadow  lay  behind  her,  she  was  still  close  enough  to  it  to 
have  lost  the  wild  freshness  of  the  old  years.  In  the  spring, 
following  upon  her  release,  she  had  been  well  enough  to 
be  brought  to  London,  and  had  been  eager  to  get  the  di- 
vorce proceedings  against  her  husband  carried  through.  If 
Jack  and  Monica  could  be  happy  together,  so  much  the 
better,  and  she  did  not  wish  to  stand  between  them  for  one 
unnecessary  hour.  She  had  taken  the  whole  thing  very 
quietly;  the  quality  of  mercy  was  never  strained  in  Cathy's 
nature.  The  day  when  the  case  was  heard  had  been  trying, 
and  though  she  only  had  to  appear  in  the  witness-box  for  a 
few  minutes,  so  that  the  hotel  proprietor  of  the  "Travellers' 
Rest"  might  swear  that  she  was  not  the  lady  described  in  his 
books  as  Lorrimer's  wife,  it  had  been  a  severe  strain  upon 
her  shaken  nerves  and  health,  and  for  some  time  after  she 
had  been  very  ill.  The  inquiry  into  her  own  case  had  been 
carried  through  successfully,  and  thus,  late  in  the  day,  the 
stigma  was  removed. 

In  the  end,  Monica  Henstock  had  been  held  gravely  re- 
sponsible, and,  even  before  the  divorce  case  had  made  the 
world  agog  with  talk,  she  was  virtually  discredited,  and 
rumours  got  about  which  left  her  with  a  choice  to  resign 
her  official  appointments,  or  be  required  to  tender  her 
resignation. 

Of  all  this  Cathy  knew  very  little.  She  had  an  invincible 
sense  of  pity  for  everyone,  and  she  believed  that  she  was 
making  Jack  and  Monica  happy  at  last. 

She  was  back  in  the  house  in  Cavendish  Square,  during 
the  winter,  and  her  old  life  re-formed  around  her  quietly. 

377 


378  CATHY  ROSSITER 

Twyford  was  back  again,  and  his  plans  for  the  School  of 
Forestry  had  materialised;  he  was  going  to  be  married,  at 
last,  and  he  came  to  tell  Cathy. 

"It  isn't  that  I  can  change  to  you,"  he  said.  "I'm  not 
likely  to  change,  nor  is  it  that  I  do  not  love  her,  I  shouldn't 
have  asked  her  to  be  my  wife  otherwise,  but  there  must  be 
different  degrees  of  love,  I  suppose,"  and  Cathy  sat  resting 
her  hands  in  his,  intensely  happy  because,  at  last,  he  was 
content. 

"You  are  the  best  friend  who  ever  lived,"  she  said,  "and 
I  hope  that  she  will  make  you  go  to  a  decent  tailor." 

"And  what  about  yourself?"  he  retorted.  "You  are  as 
untidy  as  ever,  Cathy,  and  I'm  sure  you  are  pinned  to- 
gether." 

The  poor,  faded  old  jokes  were  dreadfully  dear  in  their 
way  to  both  of  them. 

Robert  Amyas,  alone,  was  incomprehensible  to  Cathy. 
He  hardly  ever  came  to  see  her,  and,  when  the  papers  got 
hold  of  the  fact  that  Sir  John  Lorrimer,  late  Member  for 
Kingslade,  had  been  married  to  Doctor  Monica  Henstock, 
Amyas  went  to  Italy,  and  never  so  much  as  wrote  Cathy  a 
line.  His  silence  hurt  her,  and  she  missed  him  more  and 
more  as  the  days  went  by. 

She  had  lovea  Parteen,  as  a  soul  newly  released  out  of 
anguish  may  love  heaven,  and  she  wished  to  go  back  there 
again,  but,  with  Robert  away  and  enveloped  in  silence,  how 
was  she  to  go?  Cathy  wondered  whether  he  still  cared 
for  Lilian,  with  a  touch  of  romantic,  self-sacrificing  fidelity ; 
it  would  be  like  Robert,  if  he  did. 

In  the  May  following  upon  Lorrimer's  marriage,  Cathy 
was  well  again,  and  she  received  a  letter  from  Robert,  sug- 
gesting that  she,  Lady  Carstairs,  Miss  Batten  and  he  should 
all  picnic  for  a  month  at  Parteen.  Cathy  was  gay  at  the 
thought,  and  Lady  Carstairs  consented,  though  she  detested 
the  journey  and  hated  the  country,  but  she  seemed  anxious 
to  go,  and  she  kissed  Cathy  with  a  touch  of  emotion. 

Parteen  was  awakening  to  the  glory  of  the  full  spring, 
and  the  trees  were  fluttering  tiny  banners  of  the  tenderest 
green.  The  white  rhododendrons  were  in  flower,  and  the 


CATHY  ROSSITER  379 

mountains   stood   strong  and  encircling  around  the   little 
world  of  peace. 

Cathy,  her  aunt,  and  the  faithful  Batkins  arrived  a  week 
before  the  coming  of  Amyas,  and  the  day  he  was  expected 
he  found  Cathy  in  the  avenue,  sitting  on  a  low  stone  bridge 
which  spanned  the  racing  brown  waters  below.  Her  hands 
were  full  of  wild  flowers,  and  she  wore  no  hat;  directly 
he  saw  her,  he  got  off  the  car  and  sent  it  onwards  to  the 
house. 

"Well,  Cathy,"  he  said.  "Well?"  and  he  held  her  hands, 
looking  at  her  raised  face,  and  as  he  could  not  think  of  any- 
thing else  to  say,  he  said  "Well"  again. 

"How  many  wells  make  a  river?"  she  asked,  laughing  at 
him.  "Did  you  ever  hear  that  before,  Robert?  I'm  well, 
and  you're  well,  and  everything's  well,  isn't  it?"  She 
glanced  at  the  glory  that  surrounded  them  on  every  side. 

"It's  very  odd  that  I  cannot  think  of  anything  else  to 
say,"  he  remarked,  as  he  sat  down  beside  her.  "But  I  can't. 
Shall  I  begin  all  over  again  ?  Well,  Cathy  ?" 

"Oh,  stop  talking  about  wells,"  she  said.  "What  do  you 
mean  by  having  gone  away  for  a  year  and  only  remembered 
me  at  Christmas  ?  I  don't  like  to  be  remembered  only  once 
in  twelve  months." 

"I  thought  it  best,"  he  said  slowly,  looking  at  the  prim- 
rose silk  of  his  socks.  "Do  you  like  my  socks,  Cathy?" 

"Stop  making  conversation,"  she  said  again.  "You've 
been  away  a  year,  and,  during  that  year,  we  have  both 
been  growing  'a  day  older  and  a  day  worse,'  as  Norrie  Barry 
at  the  lodge  says.  Three  hundred  and  sixty-five  times 
older  and  worse,  Robert,  and  you  come  back  and  ask  me 
if  I  like  the  colour  of  your  socks.  I  don't  like  it,  I  think 
they  are  hopelessly  vulgar." 

"Cathy,"  he  spoke  doubtfully ;  "I  don't  know  if  you  know 
what  you  are  asking  me  to  say.  Now,  mind  you,  I  am  not 
responsible  if  you  don't  like  it.  First  of  all,  you  make 
wretched  puns,  and  then  you  accuse  me  of  being  vulgarly 
dressed,  or  at  least  my  feet  are  vulgarly  dressed,  and  you 
expect  me  to  sparkle  with  epigrams." 

"No,  I  don't,"  she  said,  and  she  turned  her  head  away. 


3 8o  CATHY  ROSSITER 

"You  aren't  expecting  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  any- 
how," he  said  triumphantly.  "Cathy,  I'm  going  to  be 
married.  At  least,  I  hope  so." 

She  did  not  stir,  nor  did  she  speak  for  a  moment,  and 
when  at  last  she  did,  so  much  of  the  happiness  had  died  out 
of  her  voice  that  it  hardly  sounded  like  Cathy. 

"You  and  Twyford,"  she  said,  still  with  averted  head. 
"I  feel  like  a  grandmother.  But  I'm  very  glad,  Robert." 
She  turned,  and  put  her  hands  in  his. 

"Don't  you  want  to  know  who  she  is?"  he  asked.  "She 
doesn't  know  herself  yet  and  the  biggest  surprise  is  still  to 
come.  You  see,  Cath,  she  may  refuse  me." 

"I  don't  see  why  she  should,"  Cathy  said  slowly,  and 
then  she  raised  her  swimming  eyes,  and  her  whole  face 
flooded  with  colour,  and  she  pulled  her  hands  away. 

"You  have  guessed,"  he  said,  suddenly  catching  her  into 
his  arms.  "What  is  it  to  be  ?  Cathy— Cathy— Well,  Cathy  ?" 


TME  END 


A   ooo 


129  268 


